


Social Conventions

by AnnaofAza



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Feelings, M/M, Season Nine AU, The Con's the Thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-11 05:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2056317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You seriously think Comic Con is going to solve all of their problems?"</p><p>In which Charlie uncovers the best case ever, Kevin translates a spell that can reveal a rather obvious secret, Sam wonders how he got into this mess, and Dean and Castiel need to get their act together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sam groaned. "Oh, _no_."

Kevin ignored him from the kitchen table, eating toast while gazing down at a page full of scribbled ancient runes. Castiel raised his head at the exclamation, but calmly went back to drinking his coffee.

Charlie only smirked back and swung the laptop around, revealing an in-depth article on the screen, complete with pictures. "Oh, yeah. We're going."

"Going where?" Dean asked, looking up from his place at the stove, then quickly glancing back down to see how the eggs were progressing. He scraped the spatula under the contents of the next pan over, nearly cramped with neat circles of bubbling pancake batter.

 _"San Diego,"_ Charlie sang, while Sam shook his head. "We have a case."

"It better be important if we're going to travel cross-country. Come on, Charlie, what's the deal?"

"Well," Charlie scrolled up and began reading the opening paragraph: _"Looks like Comic Con is the source of disasters this week! Only the first day, rashes of bad luck have hit San Diego's main source of attraction, including exploding lights, rattling radiators, sudden temperature drops, and berserk, inciting behavior. An incident occurred in Hall H when about a thirty-year-old woman with bright red hair and a leather outfit and her claimed 'followers' began a significant riot—'_

 _"Abaddon!"_ Kevin interrupted, but Dean had raised his spatula, egg bits flying across the room, and exclaimed, " _Comic Con?"_

"Comic Con!" Charlie sang again in reply, and both fist-pumped the air. Kevin looked rather frightened at the display, while Castiel was simply bemused.

"What is Comic Con, exactly?" Castiel inquired curiously.

"Well, it's—heads up, man!" Dean yelped, swinging the hot pan over Castiel's plate just in time to avoid a collision. "It's a convention, where people—fans of certain things—mingle." He scraped the eggs onto everyone's plates and continued, "It's the biggest summer event ever."

"Have you gone?" Dean startled at the sound of Castiel's voice, but placed the dirty dishwater in the sink and began doling out the pancakes.

"Nah," he answered, looking deeply disappointed.

"I have," Charlie gushed to Castiel. "It's so much fun! Luckily, this case gives me an excuse to attend the annual Moondoor Battle!" Castiel, needless to say, looked even more confused.

"Ooh, really?" Dean sat himself down at the table, stuffing a forkful of eggs down his throat. "I guess I better dig out the armor."

"Be ready, my handmaiden." The redhead winked, plans already whirling at warp speed inside her head.

"Oh, whoa, are we dressing up?"

"It's _cosplay_ , Kevin, and why not?" Charlie demanded, neglecting her own plate in the excitement.

"We can go as FBI agents or guards or something. We don't have to...uh, cosplay, right?" Sam asked. He took a bite of one of the pancakes, eyes widening, and shoved a bigger piece into his mouth. Dean noticed, looking pleased with himself.

"It's a good undercover method. I mean, to get in directly on the inside, you know? People will be more willing to talk to us," Dean argued, but a mischievous glint flashed in his eyes.

"They _will?"_ Castiel teased, raising his eyebrows at the man next to him. He had barely touched the eggs.

As Dean flushed, Sam rolled his eyes. "He just wants to go. Our lifestyle hasn't exactly had a lot of...accommodations."

Charlie gave Dean a _poor you_ look. "You have to come!"

"It's on his bucket list," Sam said. "He streams, if he can, and watches YouTube videos with the volume up high."

"Hey, try listening to the panels while a bunch of fangirls are screaming over them." Dean retorted.

Charlie drummed her fingers on the table. "Well, worry no more, boys! Give me an hour, and we'll have out badges, tickets, and reservations in a snap. We leave immediately after that, so get packing!"

 _"What?"_ Kevin protested, nearly dropping his coffee mug. "Really? _All_ of us?"

"It's Abaddon," Dean argued, pointing his fork at him. "We need to be there."

"What if it's a trap?" the prophet protested.

"We can all handle it. We're a team!"

"You just want to see the exclusive season finale preview of _Doctor Sexy_ ," Sam said, rolling his eyes.

Charlie turned towards Dean, jabbing him in the side. "You watch _Doctor Sexy?"_

"It's a casual occupation!" Dean protested, but Castiel raised his eyebrows archly. "What's _Doctor_ —"

"It's just a show," Dean said hurriedly, with a sharp bite on the edge of his tone, and before Sam could make another crack, he switched topics. "Hey, Kev, decode Metatron's spell yet?"

Kevin sighed, taking a sip of coffee. "It's very difficult. My eyes keep...they see it, but it's like it's vibrating."

"It's on purpose, no doubt," Castiel added sagely.

Sam frowned, looking over at Kevin's notes. "Cas, can you read it?"

The ex-angel suddenly looked uncomfortable. "I...I cannot decipher the tablet. You know that."

"Actually, the spell...I translated it to these weird rune things," Kevin muttered, waving the paper around as proof. "That's why I've had trouble. It's a dead language, right?"

"Right," Castiel confirmed, rather reluctantly. "It is."

"Do you know it?" Dean asked tentatively. "Maybe we can reverse—"

 _"I don't remember!"_ The other man suddenly snapped, startling everyone as the plates rattled. "I don't remember much _anymore_ , Dean! That's the end of it, and don't ask me again!"

Dean glanced down at his breakfast. His appetite seemed to have vanished. "I'm sorry, Cas."

Castiel seemed to realize what just happened. "Dean," he said, more gently. "I apologize. The Fall—"

"It's okay." Dean scraped his chair back and almost tossed his still-full plate into the sink. "I'm just going to pack, okay?"

Everyone watched Dean leave. It was only until he rounded the corner when Castiel rose from his seat and followed, calling, "Dean! _Wait_ —"

For a long moment, no one said anything. Charlie coughed. "Well, then. I'll just...get to it. Maybe we can find something online later."

"Actually," Kevin admitted. "I've translated the first step of the spell. There are books in the library—"

"And what is it?" Sam cut in.

Kevin shifted in his seat. "The first task is to kill a Nephilim."

"What's that?" Charlie asked curiously.

"A Nephilim is born of a union between an angel and a human," Kevin answered. "And it's not just...like a normal union. It's...created out of, exact translation here: a _profound bond_."

Sam froze. " _What?"_

"The two have to really connect, I guess," the prophet speculated. "Like, be massively in love, and have that love translate into...you get the idea. Why?"

Looking around, Sam then bent his head and lowered his voice. "I heard that phrase before. From Cas."

"Cas might know, then. Maybe—" Kevin began to suggest, but Sam shook his head.

"It was a while ago, like before...um, Cas became God and, uh, after Stull. Cas wouldn't answer my prayers after I was...brought back." Sam winced. It was still a sore spot for everyone involved, and generally, the topic had been hushed up. He was lucky in some way that the _Supernatural_ books had been published online so no one would have to explain it all themselves. "But Dean called, and he showed up. And he said it was because they...kinda exact translation: _share a more profound bond_."

Charlie and Kevin both leaned forward.

 _"Really?"_ Kevin gaped. "You're kidding."

"No, it's in the books," Charlie corrected. "I remember that, too. The forums blew up." She wrinkled her nose. "I thought it was just something Edlund tossed in for the fans, but..."

"Maybe it means their connection in...raising Dean from Hell, or something," Kevin speculated. "Doesn't Dean have that handprint?"

"Not anymore," Sam said.

"Well, the...bond might be there," Charlie began, mind racing to catch up with the details. "I mean, that's a pretty intense experience. Maybe there's a legend or something out there that...resulted in a Nephilim. Something similar. A love story."

There was a significant pause.

"You see it too," Sam sighed. "I just think if someone will just say it—"

Kevin raised both hands in the air in frustration. "No way are those two going to say anything. They never talk to each other! We spent _weeks_ tracking Cas down, with Dean panicking and on his way to putting up posters, and once we found him, _bam!_ Honeymoon over."

"Cas has been through a lot," Charlie mused, beginning to type again. "I mean, he likely is too wrapped up in the whole falling angels thing going on, with new human emotions and all that. It's kind of a difficult time."

" _Understatement_ —every time they even catch a glance at each other—" Sam swiped two hands across the table in separate directions.

"There's only so many times you can stick them in a room alone together before it gets hairy," Kevin complained. "Remember the Popcorn Incident?"

"That was pretty...violent." Charlie frowned at the memory. The two had been watching a movie— _Spider-Man_ , the old version—and what began as an innocent debate about the dilemma of Peter Parker leaving to protect Mary Jane had resulted in the bowl being flung at the wall, shattering into sharp shards, as both parties stormed out.

"He had no excuse because all the villains fucking kidnap her _anyway!"_ Dean had shouted over Castiel's "He was trying to keep her _safe_ , Dean!"

Sam tried to go after his brother, but Charlie had held him back. "Don't," she warned, raising an arm to block him. "Both of them need to cool off."

Everything went down the toilet after that. As Kevin mentioned, both parties refused to speak or interact in anything other than a business-like manner. When one tried to step up and mend fences, the other either shoved them away or flat-out ignored them. Eventually, both had stopped trying, and though events like the Popcorn Incident never occurred again, there was a chill in the air of the normally peaceful bunker. They were civil to one another, but Charlie felt on edge every time Dean opened his mouth or Castiel walked into a room.

"Maybe having a change of scenery will fix things." Charlie suggested hopefully, and she looked in the direction of where the two had gone. A sharp _slam!_ of one of the bedroom doors echoed down the hallway, and everyone sighed.

"You seriously think _Comic Con_ is going to solve their problems?" Kevin groaned. 

"It'll save the world," Charlie retorted, half-joking. Sam chuckled quietly, and the whole room quieted when Castiel strode back in. 

Charlie bent over her laptop. The sooner they could solve all of this, the better. But first, room reservations...


	2. Chapter 2

There were two beds.

After that horrendous plane trip—even though Dean took enough Xanax to kill a small dog—everyone was cranky, stiff, and tired. Charlie had gotten them two rooms with an extra cot in in one, and Dean  _really_ should had known her plan, but he had been so wiped out that he just grabbed the room key that was pressed into his hand and stumbled over there. Cas had been waiting. He had already chosen his place. 

They had nodded to each other rather stiffly in greeting. Of course, they didn't speak. Even if Dean were up to it, he was just too damn tanked to do anything but toss his duffel bag in the corner and collapse on the bed, fully dressed and with his shows on. He fell asleep fairly quickly. 

Of course, his dreams weren't exactly rosy. Mostly, they were a confusing jumble. Tonight, Dean was assaulted with blurred images of running through the woods, woods that looked like Purgatory, calling out repeatedly for Cas, only to be led to a river. Cas stood on the gray, rocky shoreline, and when Dean touched his shoulder, Cas shook his head at him and walked straight into the water, sinking deep below without a struggle.

Dean scrambled after him, still yelling Cas' name, and something touched his forehead. When he looked up, Cas was in front of him, two fingers on Dean's brow, but his blue eyes were far away and unseeing. Dean reached out again, but was then given a hard backhand against his cheek that sent him stumbling into the river. Thrashing and yelling as the current tugged him under, the last thing Dean heard was Cas screaming, _Dean! Dean!_

Dean bolted up in his bed, gasping, and looked to the next bed over. Cas was softly breathing as he shifted over towards the wall, his back to Dean, and the other man sighed. Staring up at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to return, Dean still felt the stranglehold of the water. 

* * *

Castiel had woken up because of the radio alarm clock playing what recognized as "Burnin' for You." The sound of the shower could be heard through the door. Sighing, Castiel laid in bed for as long as he could stand, trying to figure out if he should reclaim a few minutes of sleep before his roommate came out.

The minute he decided the pros outweighed the cons, the water stopped. Castiel groaned, flopping back down on the bed, which was hard, lumpy, and immensely uncomfortable. He had slept soundly last night, assuming it was because the monotonous but time-consuming plane trip. The one time Castiel had awakened was when he had to use the bathroom, and as he crept as silently as he could towards the door, Dean gasped loudly. Castiel had halted immediately and turned around, but Dean was still asleep, and there was no sign of anything amiss. 

As he settled back to sleep, Castiel had thought that the gasp sounded like his name. 

The bathroom door now opened, and Dean stepped out, towel wrapped around his waist. Castiel slowly swung his legs out of bed, rubbing his eyes. Dean passed him on the way to his duffel bag, thrown carelessly by the door, dripping water across the floor. Castiel made a face, turning his head to complain, but stopped. 

As an angel, he really only saw souls, regardless of physical appearances. Castiel was aware that the Winchesters were both physically attractive, judging by flushed gazes and generous service at diners. Now, as a human, he had lost his ability to glance into another's soul. This resulted in confusion—for example, he couldn't as easily tell if someone was lying or hiding their true feelings. 

Dean's soul had been the brightest he had ever seen, easily recognizable, and Castiel could read the hidden twists of uncertainty, the more obvious bouts of weariness, and the tiny flecks of joy that made his soul shine. Dean had told Castiel to never read his mind, and Castiel respected that. He didn't have to, as he was usually able to tell by the state of his soul on how Dean was feeling, but now...

Castiel had spent weeks as a homeless man, feeding coins into pay phones and scavenging for food and shelter. He had to keep moving—his brothers and sisters were well-informed of his part in The Fall—but the Winchesters had eventually found him in a homeless camp. It had thrown him when he realized that when he saw Dean, there was no brightness, but that didn't matter so much when the older Winchester had stepped forward and thrown his arms around him with a murmured _"Cas."_

He didn't know what exactly had changed between them, but they weren't talking much. Castiel wondered if Dean was angry at him for some reason. Was it because he now was a mere human with no powers? That couldn't be it, could it? His emotions, now intensified, were only adding to the communication barrier. 

Dean grabbed some clothes from his bag, bending over to rifle through the pockets, pulling out pieces of elaborately-constructed metal. He looked up, and Castiel realized he was staring and had to say something. 

"How is the shower?" 

"The shower's okay, not as nice as the bunker's, though." Dean sounded falsely casual, and Castiel heaved a heavy, mental sigh. 

"Good water pressure," he offered lamely, but Dean actually laughed, friendlier, it seemed.  

"Nothing compares. Come on, get ready, and we can go!" 

"It's five in the morning." Castiel pointed out.  

Dean gave him a look of mocked derision. "Exactly. The halls are crowded! You're lucky we didn't decide to camp out." He chuckled, so much like _before_ that Castiel smiled too. "Charlie wants to talk to some people she knows, and I want to at least see one of the panels." 

Castiel had skimmed Dean's schedule on the plane, scribbled with comments like "yes!" and "hell yeah!" Panels seemed like a typical question-and-answer meeting, but with adored celebrities present, as evidenced by "NEED TO SEE HIM." He had skimmed idly for something he might like to see, but it was highly unlikely he'd get to see The Doctor Unveiled or Living Long and Prospering. They were here for a case, after all. 

As Castiel wrapped the rather thin towel around his waist in the bathroom, he wondered if he should dress a certain way—Charlie had explained that no one was exactly required to "cosplay," but many people wore themed shirts or the like—and stepped out to ask Dean. 

Dean had chain-mail draped around his shoulders, with a brown tunic over a long-sleeved white shirt and sturdy boots. There was black leather buckled around his wrists and up his arms. A sword—a wooden one—was at his belt. He was standing in front of the motel's grimy mirror, smoothing his hand through his hair, ruffled and still damp from the shower. His eyes were bright, and a smile stretched across his face. 

Dean saw him and grinned all the wider. 

"Like it?" he asked, stretching out his arms. 

Castiel stared. "Yes. How did you—did you make this?" 

"Charlie actually lent it to me," Dean explained. He noticed Castiel's state of dress—or rather, lack of dress—and quickly looked away. "What are you doing to wear? Not that, I hope." 

"I was going to ask you that." Castiel said. "I have some plain shirts, but Charlie told me that perhaps I should wear what is called a fandom t-shirt." 

"You don't have one." 

"And therein lies the problem." 

Dean threw back his head and laughed again. "There's no specific dress code, Cas, as long as you have your badge and don't, I don't know, go naked or something." The tips of his ears were bright red. "Just wear what feels comfortable. We're going to be here all day, maybe all weekend." 

Castiel ended up choosing a plaid shirt, something Dean had given him the first week at the bunker, with simple jeans and boots. He grabbed his coat—a new one, since his precious garment had been gradually torn to nothing but shreds and tatters—and draped it over his arm. Dean gave him a thumbs-up and smiled softly. 

"Looking good, Cas," he complimented. "Let's go wake up the rest of the herd." 

* * *

Charlie was in what she proudly declared was her Queen of Moondoor full uniform, complete with a fancy golden crown. Castiel admired the intricate swirls and the bright red jewels, and Charlie ruffled his hair in response. He noted that Sam and Kevin had opted for more of the casual style. Sam, however, had on a Battlestar Galactica shirt. 

"Nerd," Dean said, pointing. Castiel briefly rolled his eyes. 

"Says the one who's gone all out," Sam retorted, pointing back at his brother's attire. 

"The correct terminology would be _geek_ , Dean, and you know Sam's right. Now," Charlie announced, clapping her hands. "Grab your badges and your backpacks, because we're hitting the road."  

"I thought we were getting breakfast," Kevin muttered morosely. 

"We can eat there," Charlie retorted, throwing an arm around Dean's shoulders. "Come on!" They began walking, Dean chattering about a new strategy and also something about orcs. 

"You guys go ahead," Sam said, interrupting them. Charlie and Dean turned around, wearing identical expressions of disappointment. "I actually want a meal in me before we hit the road. I'll catch up." 

Kevin nodded in agreement. "I'm with Sam. Cas?" 

Castiel glanced over at the two. Charlie smiled. Dean was idly playing with the sword at his belt, not looking up at him. "I...I would like some breakfast as well." 

He saw Dean frown, but Sam pulled him away before he could say anything. "We can grab some breakfast burritos. Where should we meet?" 

"We'll call you." Charlie said impatiently, waving goodbye, dragging Dean behind her as they went.

* * *

The hall was, as Dean said, crowded. 

"This is a _nightmare_ ," Sam groaned. "I don't think we'll be able to find anyone in this mess." 

"We should split up and start interviewing." Castiel suggested. "We all have our weapons, yes?" 

It had been difficult to smuggle them in—but everyone had at least one silver knife and some holy water and salt underneath their clothes or crammed into secret compartments of their backpacks. They also each had a taped exorcism on their phones. Charlie had had the idea of melting iron down as bracelets and pendants, so everyone had some form of minor protection. Castiel's was a cuff around his wrist. 

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "I'm sure Charlie and Dean will be done in an hour or so, and we can cover more ground then. Let's just see if we can gather some clues before then."  

Castiel had taken the hall where, coincidentally, the _Doctor Who_ panels were in. Sam was not entirely innocent of this method—there was definitely a _Star Trek_ event and a Marvel autograph line in his section. Kevin, however, had picked one at random, claiming that he wasn't as obsessed as everyone here, but Castiel noticed a _Harry Potter_ symbol hanging around his neck and refrained from commenting. 

A lot of people were here from the day before, regardless of the accidents. One particular area had yellow caution tape roped around it, so some booths were actually outside. As Castiel bent down to look at the glass littering the floor, he heard two girls talking about yesterday's incident. They had blinked up at him momentarily, and one of the them had smiled shyly before telling Castiel about a red-haired woman punching a guard in the face, while the others had followed suit and started attacking random people. 

"I don't understand it," she said, pushing back a tiara on her head. It contrasted sharply with her dark hair. "My friend was one of them, and I swear he has never been violent in his life. But it's like...he was different in that lady's presence." 

"Yeah, one minute he's jumping up and down because that Doctor Sexy guy took a picture with him, and the next thing you know—" her friend made a fist and swiped it through the air. "He's decking some guy and shouting some crazy shit."  

"What was he saying?" 

"It was hard to hear, because of the lights shattering everywhere, but he was yelling..." She continued, scrunching up her nose. "Something about Abaddon. Queen of Hell? I don't know _who_ that is; maybe it's a new thing with DC or whatever..." The girl shrugged, bored, and flipped blond hair over her shoulder.

"Ah, thank you," Castiel replied, chill settling in a foreboding pit in his stomach. She _had_ been here. "Thank you. Where is your friend?" 

"Outside." The first girl answered, shaking her head. "He's fine now, but I think he's wandering to the arena. There's some big battle going on. Mondoor? It's near...um..."

"I know where that is, thank you." Castiel nodded to them both, and went on his way. He had to find Charlie and Dean in case this friend meant them harm. Stepping outside in the direction of the arena, Castiel breathed in the fresh air, a welcome change from the stifling building. There was also...also—

Suddenly, he felt a sharp point press up against his back, along with the distinct smell of sulfur.

"Don't move, or I _will_ hurt you." 


	3. Chapter 3

It was one of the girls he had talked to, black hair paired with the golden crown, and she wasn't alone. 

Her friend was smiling broadly, hands on her hips. 

"Hello, Castiel," she smirked. "That was just _too_ easy."

Castiel stayed where he was, hoping that they couldn't sense the frantic beating of his heart. If he so much as twitched, the demon would shove her knife right into his back. He was no longer an angel—if he was stabbed, he was good as dead. Angry with himself, Castiel tried to come up with a plan, cursing his slower instincts and the fact that he couldn't reach for anything useful without alerting them to his actions. 

"Where is Abaddon?" he demanded. 

The demon holding the weapon to his back shook her head from side to side and giggled. "Why would we tell you?" She tightened her grip and pushed, just a little, and Castiel tried not to jump when he felt the slightest prick against his flesh. "The Queen's got a bounty on the Winchester boys and their angel, or—" _Tsk_ ing, the knife went in further, blood welling up to wet his shirt. " _ex-_ angel, to be exact. Aw, poor, _poor_ thing." With each word, Castiel could feel the metal twist. His shirt was now sticking to his lower back. 

Castiel clenched his jaw when the other demon sauntered up and flicked his chin with the edge of her own dagger. "The Queen will be pleased to see you, but if you struggle—" And with two expert slashes, his backpack fell to the floor with a  _thump._ "You're as good as dead. Will you go to Heaven or Hell, sweetheart? Either way, someone'll get you—"

 _"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus—"_ Castiel spat out, as quickly as he could. Both of the demons hissed, shuddering, but the dark-haired one pressed her knife farther in and clapped a hand over his mouth. She smelled of sulfur and green-apple perfume, and her heated breath touched his ear as she leaned forward. Her fingers wrapped around his arm, twisting it so hard against his back that he actually yelped. 

"You try that again, and I'll just _kill_ you. Abaddon won't need you alive." 

She next dragged and pushed him by the arm, hissing when Castiel's iron cuff touched her bare skin. Furious, the demon kicked the back of his calf, _hard_ , to make him fall to his knees. 

Castiel put up a token struggle, but there was no way they'd let him go. Most likely, one of them would just dig the knife in or slash his throat, finishing the job. He felt blood run down his shirt. 

"Get his other arm, Steff," she ordered.

Before the demon could reach his other side, Castiel swiped his leg and sent her crashing onto the hard asphalt. She yelped, loosening her grip, and Castiel shoved her off of him. He swiped the bag off the floor and ran, hand fumbling for his right pocket. The blonde tackled him from behind, digging a sharp knee into the wound on his back, and he yelled again, pressing the button and throwing the phone as far as he could. _  
_

_"— omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica..."_

The other demon brought her foot down, cracking the screen, and the recording warbled. Furious, she picked up his phone and clicked it off, waving it in front of her with a threatening glare. "Oh,  _you_ are going to—" She froze as the chant continued, but it was not in Castiel's voice. 

 _"_ _Ergo, draco maledicte!"_ A young, female voice shouted. There was the sound of feet running across concrete, and both demons _howled_  as a full blast of holy water hit them in the face. Castiel looked up to see a girl, pale in the face except for a rush of blood to her cheeks, holding a green garden hose. She aimed it more squarely in their direction, continuing over their pained screams, _"_ _Ecclesiam tuam securi tibi facias libertate servire_ _—"_

Both girls shuddered violently, collapsing on their knees, writhing in torment and screeching in agonized pleas. The newcomer briefly grinned in triumph, eyes flashing fiercely, white knuckles clenched tight.

Castiel raised his voice to add to the exorcism: _"T_ _e rogamus—"_

The demons were gasping, choking, and hands clasping their throats in a futile attempt to keep themselves in their vessels, but black smoke poured out of their mouths, choking them...

Both Castiel and the girl yelled out the final line: _"Audi nos!"_

Howling, the demons were exorcised, collapsing to the ground, and Castiel looked over at his rescuer, who simply grinned back.

* * *

After the two teenagers, shaken and determined to go home, were taken care of, along with Castiel's injury, he thought it only appropriate to ask for the girl's name.

"Krissy Chambers." 

"Are you a hunter?" he asked. She looked about the same age as a college student and could have easily passed for another convention participant. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, brown waves spilling down to the middle of her back, with a plain black t-shirt covered with a jean jacket. There was a small mole underneath one of her eyes, which were serious and tough, but with a significant lesser weight than Sam's or Dean's. 

"Part-time," Krissy shrugged, outstretching her hand. Castiel shook it, wincing mentally when her hand squeezed tightly around his. "Are you?" 

Castiel paused. "I guess I am." 

"You _guess_ , Mr.—" she glanced down at his name on his badge, then her eyes widened. " _Winchester_?"

"What?" He flipped over the colorful plastic card. There it was, _C. Winchester_ , in bold black, capital letters. Charlie must have done this. "No, I...just don't have a last name."

Krissy knit her eyebrows together. "Why?" Her tone softened. "Are your parents dead?" There was something in it, deep sadness, that Castiel was familiar with.

"I'm an angel." 

She shook her head, crossing her arms as she stepped away from him. "No way," she muttered in disbelief, her jaw dropping.

Castiel tamped down a brief smile at the memory, a man rising slowly from a crouch with startled but guarded eyes, the green shadowed in the dark barn. "Well,  _fallen_ angel, to be exact. But I assure you that angels are very real." 

"No, not that..." Krissy breathed in sharply. "I just..." She ran a hand through her hair, chewing on her upper lip. 

"You handled the demons very well," Castiel continued, giving her a chance to change topics.

The girl laughed. "You should see my friend; she's much better in this area than I am." Krissy fingered a charm on her bracelet. Castiel's eyes were drawn to it, silver and simple, with outstretched, intricate...wings?

"Is she a hunter?"

"Oh, no," Krissy told him. "Far from it, but her mom was possessed by a demon a while back, and she's been spooked ever since. Claire and I don't really actively hunt, per say...if it's in our area, we go after it, yeah, but we'd prefer to stay out of it for a while." 

" _Claire?_ Claire Novak?" 

Her eyes were narrowed now. "Why do you know her?" 

"We...we've met. A long time ago." 

"Well, she never mentioned a third Winchester," she said tartly.

Castiel chose not to reply that he wasn't _exactly_ a Winchester, only asking, "Where is she?"

Krissy pulled out her phone from her back pocket and checked. "Not sure. We got separated 'cause she wanted to check out the _Supernatural_ panel—I'm not really interested in it, so I went down to the  _Attack on Titan_ one, which was way across the hall, so..." She shrugged. "We're actually working a mini case, but we got distracted." 

"Same here," Castiel shared. "Sam and Dean and a few friends and me came here to investigate Abaddon." 

"The Queen of Demons?" Krissy tapped a message on the screen and clicked it off. "Every black-eyed monster mentions her now. There's like, a major power shift down in Hell, I guess." 

"More than that," he began to explain. "The angels—"

"Fell to Earth," she interrupted, much to his astonishment. She cocked her head at his surprised expression. "Yeah, we know. A bunch of people start acting weird, leaving their families, and wandering the earth with bright flashes and glowing blue eyes? Come on, tell me that's not  _obvious_." Her voice lowered as she confided, "Claire knows something about angels."

Castiel knew. 

* * *

 "...So  _yeah,_ it took forever for to convince Ms. Novak to let her go, even though we both bought our tickets. She's still really anxious, and I don't blame her—"

"Angels and demons are both very dangerous."

"Of course. Duh. Her husband was...I guess  _is_ one. An angel, I mean." Krissy corrected herself. "And he went ax-crazy. Do you remember that guy on the news who was killing everyone—terrorists, the KKK, the like? Geez, she kept Claire from _school_ and everything. Not that I blame her." 

Castiel fought an overwhelming urge to run or throw up or both. He never thought again of Amelia or Claire after that incident, and Castiel felt a swell of guilt and horror through his entire body. He had no idea of the emotional ramifications for the two Novaks, forced to see a beloved husband and father destroy the world and slaughter so many. Castiel had kept the Winchesters and Bobby in the back of his mind, fighting to hold onto untainted memories that weren't being poisoned by the Leviathans and his own twisted mind. How could he have done that? He always, always regretted that, but now, being reminded of the family he was supposed to protect...it was crushing him from the inside out. 

What would Jimmy think of him? He couldn't ask, of course, because Jimmy's soul had left when Raphael smote his body, but Castiel was positive that the earnest, devout man now  _loathed_ him. He couldn't blame him.

"Ah, here it is!" Krissy swung out both arms towards the scene. "Looks like they're wrapping up."

Many people were on the field, lying motionless and pretending to be dead, while only a few stragglers were fighting with wooden swords and painted shields enthusiastically. One man in particular stood out: Dean, waving his own weapon and calling, "To arms! To arms, to defeat this great evil that so plagues our land and tries to take our Queen!" He pivoted around someone in blue and tripped another, moving fluidly around Charlie, red hair visible even from far across the field. 

Krissy saw him looking and smirked. 

"Dean Winchester is a huge dork."

Castiel smiled fondly. "He is." 

The battle finally ended when Charlie defeated the other team's king, and everyone stood up in the field and began cheering. The winning side was chanting cries of victory, while the losers groaned and knelt on the grass in defeat. 

"...We shed tears for our fallen and stand in triumph and the blood in our enemies!" Charlie shouted, raising her sword over her head. "The Queen's side is victorious! Long live Moondoor! Long live the Queen!"

"Long live the Queen!" Her army roared, descending into cheers and chaos. 

Dean spotted them both when he happened to glance their way, jogging towards them with a gleam in his eye and a parting wave towards the other players. Sweat was dripping down his forehead, matted with dampened hair, and his chain-mail was skewed sharply towards the right. 

 _"Krissy?"_ he gasped. "That you?" 

"Dean, you big, big geek, it _is_ me." Krissy rolled her eyes, but both hugged each other, Dean patting her on the back. "I didn't know you were in LARPing." 

"It's awesome," Dean defended, then grinned at Castiel, looking a bit bashful. "Did you see that?" 

"I did," Castiel said. "Congratulations on your victory." 

"Amen!" Dean clapped his hands, grinning. His good humor was infectious; Castiel also found himself beaming, too. Dean was  _energetic_ , buzzing with happiness. This was a rare occurrence, and he found himself wondering, _Why doesn't he look like that more often?  
_

"Where'd you two find each other?"

"Well, someone got attacked by demons," Krissy said, pointing her chin in his direction. "Luckily, I was there." 

"Are you okay?" Dean's smile had immediately dropped off his face, and his eyes, now wide with worry, anxiously skimmed over Castiel's body. "Did they hurt you? Was it Abaddon?"

"They cut me a little, but I'm fine." Castiel reassured, showing him, but Dean didn't looked comforted in the least. "They were looking for me, for all of you, to take to Abaddon." 

"Oh my God, Cas, I'm  _so_ sorry." Dean groaned, reaching out a hand and gently squeezing his arm. His eyes still were searching him for any hidden injuries. "I wasn't there, you could have...could have..." 

"Krissy saved me." Castiel said, nodding towards her. For some reason, she was looking rather amused. "Hose full of holy water."

"That's damn good." Dean praised, but his voice sounded hollow, rough and uneven. "Damn _good._ Are you sure you're okay, Cas?" 

"Well, he's not _dead_ ," Krissy pointed out, then paused for a moment. "Wait... _Cas?_ "

"Short for Castiel, Angel of the Lord." Dean patted him on the back, mindful of his injury, smiling. 

"Oh,  _hell_ no." Krissy said. "You guys have some explaining to do on the way back." 


	4. Chapter 4

Stranger things had happened to Krissy, but this? This was just a whole new level of weird.

"You're _wrong_ ," Charlie snapped at the person, a guy with more hair above his lip than anyone Krissy had ever met in her life. It looked like someone had glued a guinea pig to his face. "It needs more _diverse_ characters."

The _Supernatural_ posters were everywhere. Krissy had idly picked up a book— _Adventures in Babysitting_ —and started flipping through it as a distraction. The girl on the cover did not resemble her much at all. Krissy—book Krissy—resembled more of a twenty-year-old Swedish model than the actual fourteen-year-old  described in the novel. At least, she mused, her witty dialogue was intact, as well as—mostly—her personality. She was sure that Dean's eyes didn't "longingly stare for what could have been" (whatever that meant, and if it was what she was thinking... _gross._ ) or Sam didn't "wring his hands with worry." (Sam didn't seem the type.)

Arguing about characters— _themselves_ —was downright odd, but this was their meeting place for Sam and an apparent "prophet," Kevin, so here she was. (What kind of Prophet of the Lord was named _Kevin?_ She had, personally, expected a Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John.)

"...And how do you _know_ he isn't queer?" Charlie was continuing, looking vastly offended as she waved one of the books at him. "Did you even read _Sex and Violence?_ _Everyone Hates Hitler?_ Come _on_ —"

Dean had wandered off some time ago with the ex-angel—Claire was going to flip her _shit_ when she found that little tidbit out—to "check out the scenery." _Honestly._ As soon as Dean and Charlie had changed out of their...costumes— _it's called cosplay; you wouldn't understand_ —into geeky t-shirts, Dean had hung around "Cas"—trust Dean Winchester to nickname a freaking angel—with such a put-upon look that it made Krissy want to roll her eyes. Except...except—

Well, she couldn't be a hypocrite, could she? Krissy checked her phone again. No answer. She tapped out another text, putting the book back on the table, and watched the green text box appear below the multiple messages. Where _was_ Claire? Those panels didn't last this long, and she felt a twist of worry in the pit of her stomach. Claire was no weakling, and she could definitely take care of herself—hell, she had kicked a demon in the _face_ when they first met—but _still_. Krissy was worried.

This was supposed to be just a fun time here—they only had enough money for a day, and only if they slept in Krissy's car and brought along bottles of water and endless granola bars—but something had to go wrong. There had been that weird bout of chaos the first day, and instead of driving around a bit to see the sights and later stretch their legs before they bunkered down for the night, she and Claire had recited five exorcisms, punched two police officers (not real ones) in the face, and converted many a water supply to demon-defeat juice. And there was apparently the Queen herself riding around town, and Ms. Novak was definitely going to come for them now.

This _sucked._

At least they had gotten to attend a Women Who Kick Ass panel and make out with some autographs before they had split up. But Krissy stared at the screen, willing for something to happen. Claire sometimes put her phone on silent for movies and hunts, but she was a prompt responder and a stealthy texter. What was wrong?

Looking up to see if anyone was watching, Krissy silently slunk away to the last place she had seen her friend. She'd message Sam or Dean later.

* * *

"How did you lose track of her?"

Charlie winced, a bit embarrassed. "I was debating."

Kevin groaned, rubbing his forehead as if Charlie was being as aggravating as reading the tablets or discussing life as an honors student. "Over the _Supernatural_ books? Charlie, it's bad enough that they're out there, but do we really want to listen to people psycho-analyze our lives?"

“Some actually have good ideas...” At both of the boys’ disapproving looks, the redhead shrugged helplessly.  "Come on, guys! They were a _bit_ confrontational, but—"

"Don't argue with them, trust me." Sam interrupted, holding up both of his hands, as if as a preemptive defense mechanism. "It's impossible—"

_"Sam?"_

Everyone turned, Sam's expression turning to absolute horror—in fact, Charlie had seen that same expression on the cover of  _Lucifer Rising_. (Wow, spoiler much?) There was a girl, bubbly and blond, with a pink plaid shirt and jeans, rushing towards them. Her eyes were wide and eager, and she was waving frantically, while keeping a close hold on her bulging, complimentary con bag. The people at the booth behind them gasped and started applauding. Sam started to move his head from side to side, looking like he was keeping an eye out for an escape route. 

_"...Becky?"_

"You’re here!" Becky gushed, about to throw her arms around Sam, but stepped back with an apologetic gaze. "Oh, Sam, I'm sorry. About the whole—"

"You know what, we should just pretend that didn't happen," Sam protested, raising both of his hands in the air a second time. He backed up so his hip jarred against one of the table’s corners, and he winced. 

Becky bit her lip. "I'm still sorry, Sam. I'm _so_ sorry. Garth said—“

"Wait, _you're_ Becky?" Charlie interrupted. "Chuck's girlfriend? Beckywinchester176?"

"That's me." She gestured towards the books, stacked high and numbered chronologically. "I published them. Chuck just up and left, but there were still flash drives and everything. Sorry about the quality; I wanted to publish them exactly as he wrote them, word for word."

"I'm surprised there's no added Wincest," Sam muttered under his breath, and Charlie raised her eyebrows. _That_ was a story for another time. Kevin looked morbidly curious, the way one would approach a seemingly-dead cockroach before immediately turning back with a shrill scream.

"Why are you here?" Becky asked, throwing her bag underneath the table. She winced as it wobbled, tipping a few of the books onto the floor. Bending down to retrieve them, Becky continued, "The demons?"

 Sam looked around and stooped to the ground to help her, lowering his voice as he said, "Yeah. What have you heard?"

"Same as you, I think. They're disrupting Comic Con, and Abaddon's here, making everyone go crazy."

"More like _possessed_ ," Kevin corrected, taking a glance around the area again. "I escaped from one during the _Firefly_ panel. The lights were blinking on and off."

"Whoa," Charlie said. "You've watched _Firefly_?"

"Yes," the prophet replied defensively.

“I just didn’t think you were into it, that’s all.”

“It’s a cult classic,” Kevin began to protest, but Sam stood up and pushed them both away from each other's respective personal space.

"That’s beside the point," he interrupted. "Where are Dean and Cas?"

"Dean wandered off at the sight of a really well-made Dalek," Charlie explained, beginning to reorganize the stand for something to do with her hands. "And Cas followed."

"Why am I not surprised?" Sam sighed, with a short roll of his eyes. 

Becky’s own eyes had widened almost comically, and her jaw dropped, hitting the collar of her shirt.  

"Castiel? _The_ Castiel?"

"Yeah..." Sam confirmed, somewhat awkwardly, shuffling his feet.

Becky looked beside herself and almost on the verge of jumping up and down and clapping her hands. "Wow. _Wow_." She shivered.

Kevin shrugged, looking over at Charlie before checking his phone for new messages. "I guess we should wait in the same spot, in case Dean and Cas decide to come back this way."

"Good!" Becky chirped eagerly, waving someone over. "Then you can participate in the trivia game!" 

* * *

 Charlie volunteered Sam—which he didn't appreciate—and sat back to watch the fun. The prophet, however, had decided to cheat— _was it really cheating? Oh, well_.—and take a look through the books to see if any vital details of the spell were published. So far, he was having some luck with _Clip Show_ , the second to last book in the series.

"Look, Charlie, the Nephilim’s here, but it doesn't say why."

She peered to read over his shoulder and silently reread the page Kevin’s finger was pointing to. “Yeah, it’s kind of vague. It’s just Metatron telling Cas the tasks. It doesn’t really hint at any sort of connection.”

“There _has_ to be a connection,” Kevin argued, over the sound of the air horn, which was in lieu of a game show buzzer. Sam was gripping the nozzle tightly, and with a reluctant glance at the disgruntled contestants, he mumbled the answer: _Gabriel._ Charlie snickered briefly into her hand. “Spells like this aren’t just randomly planned out. Look at the Gates of Hell one: all had to do with destroying some part...some _form_ of Hell, right?”

“Killing a Hellhound, saving an innocent soul, cure a demon,” Charlie recited, nodding. “Triumphing over Hell was the goal. Symbolism and all that.” Behind them, Becky was reading off a card— _in_ Goodbye Stranger,  _what or who broke the connection of Castiel’s brainwashing?—_ and Kevin turned the page as another loud blast deafened the surrounding area.

Charlie still was thinking out loud: “So, the so-called Heaven trial...has the person cut out the _heart_ of the living, physical union between an angel and human. With a major profound bond, yeah?”

Sam suddenly gasped, “ _What?”_ and Charlie turned in concern, but he simply waved his hand, looking as if someone had clubbed him over the head with a two-by-four. _Later,_ he mouthed. Becky was giggling as she read the next question, while one of the competitors was saying, voice filled with scorn, “You didn’t _know_ that?”

Kevin was still absorbed in his reading, absentmindedly drumming his fingers on the back cover. “It doesn’t say that here. The tablet’s different. More...explanatory.” He shrugged, now flipping through the book without really looking at it. “I wish I like, took a picture or something, because this doesn’t really help that much. It confirms what I kind of already know.”

Charlie plucked the next book, _Sacrifice,_ from the table as the air horn wailed again. The cover showed an exhausted-looking—and more muscular version of—Sam standing with a crossed arms in front of a church, with an equally-rugged Dean placing a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, who either looked very determined or extremely constipated. “Kevin, listen to this: _As Sam rushes to complete the final trial to shut the Gates of Hell forever, Dean teams up with Castiel to complete the second heaven trial: obtaining a Cupid’s bow._ ”

Kevin ripped it right out of her hands. “You’re _kidding_.”  

They both stared at the summary for a long moment.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Kevin muttered, rubbing his forehead again. “It’s—“

And the lights above them shattered with a resounding crash and fizzling sparks.  

"...September 18, 2008—hey! What the _hell?"_  

* * *

 "I don't see why we're not going in."

Dean ducked again behind one of the cardboard cutouts as two guys walked by, laughing while flipping through a glossy comic book, the front scribbled with a bold signature. "This...this thing is for chicks, Cas. It's kind of a guilty pleasure."

“I’m not sure what you’re exactly ashamed of, though,” Castiel said, sighing mentally as Dean whirled around to avoid a group of giggling middle-aged women entering the room. “It’s a medical show, yes? Why is it designated specifically for women? Is there an official taboo written in stone, because—“

“It’s a _soap opera_ , okay?” The other man admitted in a hissed whisper. He ran his hand again through his hair, making it stand up more in an uneven mess of spikes. Dean stole another glance at the rather garish poster— _meet the actors of_ Doctor Sexy, _including the sexy doctor himself!_ —and crossed his arms over his _One Ring to Rule Them All_ t-shirt. Instead of an actual piece of jewelry, Castiel noticed that it was an onion ring paired with a strange language written in ketchup. “It’s just...I’m _not_ —it’s not supposed—“

“Dean.” The ex-angel laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder, who took a deep, steadying breath in response. He looked suddenly very lost and almost vulnerable, nothing like the confident young man who swung his sword and laughed in the field. “Dean, if you like this, you should go.”

Dean shook his head, but his voice now seemed only a token protest: “Cas, I—“

Castiel squeezed his shoulder. “If it concerns you so, I’ll go with you.” He began to gently drag Dean towards the entrance. “Dean, you don’t even _know_ these people. You’ll never see them again, and what does it matter? The only person who’s judging you is _you_.”

It was a simple argument, something Castiel had said to get him moving, but Dean reacted as if someone had opened the curtains to a dark room, sunlight finally streaming through. He exhaled again, but his hands were steady, his eyes _looking_ at Castiel with something he couldn’t name.

“Cas,” he said, voice roughened. “You—“

_"Dean?"_

Dean startled, whirling around so quickly that he bumped into another cardboard cut-out, sending it with a brutal _smack_ to the floor. The man who had said Dean’s name was right behind them, a look of astonishment on his face. He had short brown hair and a matching, scruffy beard, with a gray t-shirt and black jacket. His hand was lifted in a friendly, yet startled wave.  

Nearly dropping his booklet, Dean gaped, then a small smile spread slowly on his face.

"Aaron?"


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel thought that the back row of a convention center about doctors making out in supply closets and performing ludicrously impossible surgeries while doing so was a poor area for a proper reunion.

Dean and his friend, Aaron, evidently did not agree. They leaned forward, heads pressed close together so they could whisper and not be overheard by the audience. Castiel caught snippets of conversation about the Thule Society, a golem crouched in a motel room, the Judah Initiative, and something about a bar. Dean snickered quietly at a joke Castiel didn’t understand, and Castiel felt an irrational urge to cut into their conversation. His simmering resentment grew as he was forced to pay attention to the questions and (lewd) answers up on the stage while Dean and Aaron began laughing uncontrollably about a story of a romantic rendezvous gone wrong by an interrupting golem.

“So, Dean,” Aaron finally said, once he was done describing an incident with a toaster and a befallen Thule member. “Who’s your friend?” He turned to Castiel, hand extended for a handshake, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry about ignoring you there; it’s been a while since I’ve seen Dean."

Just as Castiel opened his mouth to reply, Dean spoke. "It has," he agreed, looking for a moment that he might say  _me too_ , but instead added, "Yeah, and you haven't seen Sam either. Or Kevin, or Charlie..."

"Where is Sam? How come you guys are split up?” the the other man asked.

“Oh, he and the others are investigating some demons and geeking out,” Dean explained, with a casual wave of his hand. “How did you end up here?”

“Oh, I always come,” Aaron replied, holding up his bulging convention bag. “And miss a _Doctor Sexy_ season finale preview? Never.”

“Sacrilegious,” Dean agreed, as though he hadn’t been hiding behind cardboard cutouts for the past half hour and debating whether to even step through the doorway. Castiel mentally heaved a long sigh.

“Right, I—oh, God, I’m sorry again!” Aaron gave Castiel an embarrassed wince. “God, I'm normally not this rude. Sorry, you’re...?”

“This is Cas,” Dean interrupted, placing a hand on his shoulder, grinning broadly. “He’s an angel.”

Aaron raised his eyebrows. “Literally, or...” He glanced down at Castiel’s convention badge, a small smirk slowly crawling across his face. “Oh, _now_ I see it.”

“What?” Dean followed his gaze down and flushed dark red. “No, it’s not like that. Cas...Cas is a friend.” Under his breath, Dean cursed a _damn it, Charlie._

Smirking, Aaron replied, “Sure.” Before Dean could say another word, he continued, “How did you know him?”

“I pulled him out of Hell,” Castiel answered for Dean, more rigidly than he intended, but Aaron replied with a low whistle, looking deeply impressed. “What about you?”

“Nazi Necromancers.” Aaron said, smiling slightly, rubbing the back of his head. “Sam and Dean rolled into town after my grandfather was murdered by this weird ancient society trying to destroy another secret society—the good society, mind you—and basically, we saved it.”

“That’s the short version.” Dean added, before being shushed by a girl in front of them, who was leaning on the edge of her seat as the _Doctor Sexy_  main actor spoke into the microphone. His voice was deep, but rich and smooth, and Castiel noticed that most of the room had glazed eyes, and in some extreme cases, a slackened jaw. Aaron’s eyebrows were disappearing beneath his hairline. Dean was shifting in his seat, trying not to look interested, but was failing miserably. Once or twice, he’d glance at Castiel and immediately drop his gaze whenever caught.  

Castiel tried his best get a glimpse of the man on stage. He was tall with faint stubble, his plain white t-shirt accentuating his dark skin and showing the faint outlines of muscle. His hair was shoulder-length, curled so it didn’t touch the back of his neck. When he smiled, his teeth were nearly bright white, with a hint of a gap between his two front teeth. Instead of making the man look like a chipmunk, it was clearly endearing. One of the guys behind him gave out a low whistle at the sight.

“He can recite the phone book, and I won’t care,” Aaron muttered, nudging Dean’s side playfully. Dean ducked his head and mutely nodded. Castiel noticed that Dean’s body was now angled away from his.

“I would marry him,” the other man continued, turning his head to whisper into Dean’s ear so they could all hear the actor. “I really would. Dark hair, bluish eyes? Yes.”

At Dean’s answering _uh, I–um,_ Castiel craned his neck further and felt himself frown in thought. _Dark hair, bluish eyes..._

“Now, we’re going to wrap this up so you can see the preview clip...”

“Sorry, man,” Aaron suddenly said, glancing at the man beside him. “I forgot you don’t _apparently_ swing that way.” His tone held a mischievous note, as if it were a private joke between them, and Dean immediately flushed dark red that made his freckles stand out. It was clear that Aaron's words had hit a sore spot, cleaving him to the bone. 

“I don’t,” Dean mumbled, looking down at his shoes. “I don’t.”

He sounded so downtrodden and desperate, as if someone had ripped out a hidden part of him to expose to the world and destroy it. Aaron looked over, features twisted in guilt and sympathy, and Castiel reached his hand out to lay on his shoulder. Dean jolted away from the touch as if he had been struck instead, practically getting up on his feet.  

 _“Don’t—“_  he protested, teeth clenched as if he were restraining himself, then the lights blew out.

* * *

"It’s about time you got here!” Sam shouted.

The hall was chaos. A blond-haired woman was backed up against the table, a knife clutched between her hands and with a nasty tear down her pink shirt. Charlie was yelling at everyone to run, swinging a folding chair at a black-eyed boy, who fell hard against the opposite wall. Yelping, Kevin slashed another in the leg, closing his eyes slightly, and wildly kicked it in the stomach. The demon cursed, throwing Kevin hard into the stack of novels. 

Dean reacted quickly. He grabbed Ruby’s knife from the inside pocket of his jacket and stabbed Kevin's assailant, hard in the back, racing over to Sam as the demon’s wails began.

“Cas!” he shouted, throwing something shiny across the room. Castiel caught it in midair, the ridged edges of the keys pressing hard into his palm. “The Impala! Grab as many things from the trunk as you can carry!”

“I won’t leave you, Dean!” Castiel yelled, just barely managing to dodge as a girl, wearing jeans and bright orange t-shirt, swung the table in his direction. She smirked, tossing her hair and laughing, high and clear. “Want to go to Hell, angel? Do you want to join my friends?”

Castiel shoved Aaron behind him and swung her around by the arm as she raced headfirst at him. He shoved the keys at Aaron. Castiel didn’t know if Aaron had any weapons, but from what he heard, his golem was far away and wouldn’t be able to protect him.

Aaron ran, tearing for the door, and Castiel rushed over to the blond girl, who was swiping the knife fiercely, albeit uncertainly. She nearly cut off his nose when he approached, but stopped when he noticed his badge, still dangling from around his neck. “Oh! You must be Cas, sorry! Becky!” Ducking as a table whizzed over his head, Castiel barely managed to nod. There was plenty of time for proper introductions later.

Castiel whipped out his angel blade that had been tucked in his belt, and the girl’s eyes grew larger. He plunged it into a lunging demon, and it screamed, white light briefly pulsing from the wound. Charlie yelped from behind him, and Castiel threw his weapon directly into the back of the advancing demon. Becky looked as if she were about to start applauding.

“Charlie, how far away is the sound system?” Kevin called out.

Charlie winced as another lightbulb above her shattered, but her expression brightened. “Your phones!” She swung Castiel’s angel blade. “I’m going to hook up the recording. Hang on!”

“Hurry!” Sam hollered, as Charlie dashed for the exit, wielding the angel blade with powerful swipes.

He was a machine, twisting out of the way and bowling over demons with help of one of the display tables, and Dean was at his heels, slicing the knife as much as he could. He caught Castiel’s eye, with a mixture of fury and worry, before stabbing into a red-haired man. Fumbling with his jacket pocket, Dean turned on the recorded exorcism and threw it as hard as he could across the room. All of the demons momentarily began sputtering and gasping, but a black-eyed woman, with a weak wave of her hand, sent the phone crashing through the hall's window. 

"Have you used yours?" Dean questioned the room, grimacing when a demon managed to cut his upper arm. Castiel tried to go to him, but he was trapped, fighting three demons with Becky. 

"It smashed my phone!" Kevin yelled back. "Sam's won't work!"

Dean cursed. 

The girl was now back, orange t-shirt peppered with blood, and she threw herself at both of them, and Castiel and Becky scrambled out of the way. He nearly ran into Kevin, who managed to stab another demon in the chest before yanking the weapon out, but Castiel wasn’t so lucky. The girl thrust out her arm, and he was launched across the room, hitting the wall hard, feeling his wound reopen at his back. He fell to the ground with a short gasp, blood soaking the back of his shirt.

“Cas, are you okay?” Sam exclaimed, hand clenched tightly around his knife, but before Castiel could reassure him, something hit him directly in the face. The demon grinned. She had a knife, one that had fallen on the floor in the scuffle, and raised it above her head. "Say goodbye, angel." 

“Cas!” he heard Dean cry out, as the demon brought the weapon down.

Castiel, with a deftness that surprised him, caught the blade between both of his palms. Before the demon could recover from her shock, he shoved it away from him and got to his feet. The demon staggered backwards, thrusting clumsily at Castiel, but he easily moved away, managing to draw back his arm and throw a solid punch.

She grunted, stumbling over a body on the floor, and suddenly screamed as a bullet pierced her temple.

Aaron was behind them, a rifle in his hands, with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “Heads up!”

Castiel backed away, and the demon tried to follow, but hissed angrily when she found out she couldn’t move.

“The hell!” She gasped as the demon knife sank into her neck, and Dean was behind her, face distorted into something murderous. He looked as if he were about to say something, but only raced past Castiel to grab a shotgun from the bag.

“Devil’s trap bullets!” he hollered in triumph, just as the loudspeakers blared, “ _Excorcizamus te_ —“

* * *

“Seriously, what happened to you guys?” Sam demanded.

“We were at a panel, and we ran into Aaron,” his brother explained, gesturing in his direction. He was currently looking over Cas, shining a small flashlight in his eyes. Cas was putting up with it, but was insisting, “Dean, are _you_ okay? We should—“

“Guys,” Becky said. “What _was_ that? It came out of nowhere.”

“It was Abaddon, most likely,” Kevin answered. “Maybe trying to kill us all off. Make her job easier.”

Sam _hmm_ ed as the others began speculating. They were huddled in an empty convention room—all panels were closed for a good while—and patching up. Charlie looked a little worse for wear, but she’d given Cas back his angel blade and thanked him for the large amount of help it had given her. Now, she was with Kevin on the floor, who was clutching a now somewhat-battered _Supernatural_ book, and both were thumbing through it thoughtfully. Becky was babbling, trying to figure out what had happened, while Aaron was methodically cleaning the weapons near the group and looking over at Dean and Cas, who were talking in lowered voices. They now seemed to be carrying on a hissed argument: _I told you to go. I said I wouldn’t leave you. What’s changed now? Dean, what is with you? I don’t know, what’s with you—_

Sam sighed, turning his attention back to Charlie and Kevin. Becky was now kneeling between them, eyes wide and eager, while Aaron was clearly eavesdropping on the entire thing.

“The third was an angel’s grace,” Charlie was hissing. “It’s perfect.”

“And we know that Metatron took Cas’ grace.” Kevin replied, pointing to a page. “For the spell. It makes sense: Nephilim, Cupid...”

The younger Winchester crept over. All of them nearly jumped, but Charlie threw a significant look in Dean and Cas’ direction.

“I know,” Sam whispered, nodding. “But get this: in the trivia game— _Dean_ was—“

“Are you guys talking about me?” Dean’s voice cut clear across the room. Both of the men were looking clearly rattled, and Sam guessed that having a conversation about Dean without him didn’t make things better.

“No,” Charlie said, but Charlie was never a very good liar. Dean’s eyes narrowed.

This was going to get bad real fast, so Sam searched for something to distract him. “Look, Dean,” he said, holding up his convention bag, now stuffed with prizes Becky had foisted upon him for that silly trivia game. “Look at this stuff.”

Sam pulled out the contents. They were mostly t-shirts and a few knick-knacks, along with a novel— _Sacrifice_ , the one Kevin was holding. Aaron leaned forward and began to shift through the bag, pulling out a poster of Dean, whose face was a cross between dramatic and broody. Blood was splattered almost flatteringly across his otherwise very clean face. His hands were on his hips. “You look like a soap opera star, man,” Aaron commented. Charlie and Kevin snickered.

Dean’s face flushed when Becky piped up, “Oh, yeah, in this alternate universe, Dean _was_ a soap opera star,” and almost everyone fell over howling. “Geez, I remember that— _The French Mistake_ ,” she was giggling madly, practically choking as she spoke. “I mean, you guys were pretty bad actors—“

“Is this the universe Balthazar threw you into?” Castiel inquired, but before anyone could answer, Aaron had found a shirt, and Sam’s mind went _oh, shit._

“Hey, Dean,” Aaron said curiously, before Sam could stop him. “You said you guys weren’t involved—“

There was no mistaking the message. There was a Dean painted on the front, startled and still, standing in what looked like Bobby’s main room, dark with evening shadows. Behind him, the windows had bright red angel warding, but Cas was standing inside, cupping Dean’s face with both hands, kissing him deeply. There was a single line scrawled at the bottom in white: _Dean, it’s not broken._

If it had been a silly picture, like with a cartoon Dean and Cas skipping through flowers or something, Sam was positive that his older brother could have laughed it off. But this looked realistic and tinged with obvious open emotion, something that looked as if it could have happened. Sam knew that Cas and Dean didn’t always have their conversations in front of him—it explained how Dean knew about Sam killing Alastair, for example—and knew that they communicated in subtle and unspoken ways. As much as the bunker residents joked about the “eyesex” between the two, it was clear that they shared more a deeper sort of understanding.

He remembered that line. Sam didn’t like to remember it, Cas working behind their backs with the King of Hell himself, but Sam could perfectly recall that heated exchange: the slightly sweet and musky smell of holy oil, Dean’s face twisted with betrayal and distress, Cas begging in in the narrow circle of fire. His brother had all but pleaded, _Cas, we can fix this_ , but Cas had silenced him with a sharp, _Dean, it’s not broken._

Sam knew Cas had been back later on to steal one of the journals, and Dean had grudgingly mentioned that the angel had talked with him. They had been too worried about Cas and Crowley cracking open Purgatory to really go over anything with a fine-toothed comb, but Sam now took the time to watch the emotions flicker over Dean’s face. What had they talked about? What had happened? Sam knew that he could find out the answer easily, that he could crack open one of the books and see for himself, but that was _wrong._ This was so intimate, so private, something that was clearly a huge matter of _personal_ to both of them that it would be like intruding on the hidden parts of his brother’s soul.

Seeing that image, seeing those words printed so clearly, made something in Sam’s chest coil at the look on Dean’s face. Aaron was now slowly putting the shirt down, looking extremely regretful that he had tried to make a joke of it, and everyone in the room was silent, as if they had stumbled upon a funeral. Sam hardly dared to look at Cas. There had been a small intake of breath when the shirt had been revealed, but now, nothing. Dean was frozen, fists clenching in his lap, and his face reminded Sam of that night, utterly vulnerable and hurt. _Dean, it’s not broken._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This actually was a pretty long chapter, so I'm splitting it into two parts. Keep a look out for the next one soon!


	6. Chapter 6

“Dean, _wait_! We need to talk.”

Dean didn’t turn around, but he paused, hand still curled around the doorknob. He could feel Cas’ presence behind him, and Dean tried not to squirm at the difference. Cas was no longer the imposing, unreachable Angel of the Lord—he was human, shoulders slumped slightly forward, with the lines around his weary eyes more obvious. He was wearing Dean’s Led Zeppelin t-shirt, the one that he’d let Cas borrow before they hit the nearby clothing store, and his bare feet poked out of the tattered jeans, loose around his hips.

“I think we’re good,” Dean replied, a little more acidic than he intended, and turned the knob. “I…need to pack for San Diego,” he said, freezing when Cas’ hand clamped firmly down on his shoulder. Mindful of the heated breath against his face, Dean held own breath, spine stiffened. Cas smelled like coffee and buttered toast and eggs. He was close, too close.

“Just listen,” Cas said, and Dean flinched when the other hand came down on his opposite shoulder, holding him in place. “The Fall—it’s been difficult for me. Being human—it’s…all of these raw, visceral feelings to deal with, sort out. I’m…” He paused, seeming to search Dean’s face for something he needed to understand. “I once…thought I knew the dangers of having too much emotion, not this…this is just a collision of everything. It’s like the wall that separated me from you is gone.”

“It’s still there.”

Cas stood still for a moment, and Dean took the opportunity to shove himself away, putting more distance between the two of them. He now leaned against the door, heart quickening, trying not to touch the ex-angel.

Quietly, Cas asked, “What’s that?”

“It’s still there, Cas. I just…I can’t—“ He had to get away. Had to get away from this, all of this, from Cas, from everything. “I can’t deal with this.”

Like the coward he was, Dean practically threw himself into his room and slammed the door behind him, ignoring the quiet two knocks that came after.

It had been like this before, when they finally found Cas, disheveled and weary in a way he had never been before, shivering under some scrappy-looking tent and giving what looked like his last piece of food to a scrawny-looking child. Cas had reeked of something that had crawled out of the sewer and had just stood there in the camp of wary homeless people when Dean, unable to contain his joy, threw his arms around him and gripped as tight—if not tighter—than Purgatory. _Dean, you found me_ , Cas said, voice filled with wonder, and Dean had replied, _I always will._ And then he had frozen because it sounded too much like _I need you._ Because he had knelt in that crypt, half of his face crushed in and bones crushed together but still oh so damn certain that he could reach Cas. There were thousands of times Dean had believed in him, and there were thousands of times where he refused to ask himself _why._

He knew he had been a dick, avoiding Cas like some stupid teenager, and had tried to put them aside for this case that he knew he would enjoy, so far from home and so different.

But this…all of this happening now, the stupid rooms and Krissy and Aaron and now the stupid, stupid shirt. Before Dean knew what he was doing, he was shaking his head.

“Sam, shut up,” he heard himself saying, voice gone so hard and cold that he didn’t recognize it. “That never happened.”  That should have been the end of it, but Dean couldn’t stop himself, like a rock rolling down a hill: “It never happened. It never will.” _He doesn’t see you like that; he never will._ “God, Sammy, stop seeing things that aren't there." There was a laugh, ugly and twisted, that tore out from his throat without warning. "You honestly thought there was some sort of sappy confession or some debate about choosing the world over me? If that were the case, maybe Cas, oh, I don't know, would have stopped working with Crowley. And not swallow souls from Purgatory and then try to kill us."

He had thrown them those words to make Cas shout back. The last time they had an argument, it made him feel rotten, but in control of the situation, making it a physical thing he could shout at. No one ever talked in depth about this, no one. Sam had tried, but in the chaos of tablets and Leviathan and Cas’ own mental state, it had, like so many other things, been shoved underneath the rug.

When Cas finally spoke, his tone was almost robotic. "I did have to choose."

"Well," Dean replied, wild laughter bubbling in his throat. "We knew how it ended, didn't it? All for nothing."

* * *

At one look at Cas’ visibly wounded face, Sam had decided he had enough of this.

“Dean,” Sam said, positioning himself between them. “Don’t. Come, lay off.” He glanced at Cas again, who had quickly schooled his expression into a careful mask of indifference. “We should be working on this case. Abbadon—“

“You’re just dodging it, Sam. You don’t think I keep hearing what you guys talk about?” Dean nodded towards Charlie, then Kevin. “The spell.” He pointed his chin at Sam. “That trivia game. If I’m being talked about, I want to know.”

Kevin was silent, and Becky simply turned away. Charlie hesitated. “Well—“

“No.” Cas said, voice too loud for the small room.

There was a significant pause.

“No?” Dean asked, slowly turning towards Cas.

“Dean—“ Sam started to say, but Cas interrupted him.

“It’s…it’s…” Dean was pinning Cas down with his eyes, toying with him like a cat pawing at a mouse, delighting in that single, awful moment of prolonged silence. Cas looked at Sam, then at the book Kevin was clutching to his chest, cover facing outward. He seemed to be going through some internal conflict before taking a deep breath and facing Dean. “It’s not of import.”

“Not of import,” Dean mocked, mimicking the stiff tone. “What’s the final ingredient?” Cas flinched, looking away, and Dean plowed on, now turning to Sam with a wide grin. “What was so important about me in that trivia game? Come on, guys, I know you know it.”

Sam felt like throwing up his arms in the air in frustration, but something overtook him at the sneer that twisted his brother’s face. He was instantly reminded of Cas, standing motionless with a plate clutched in his hand. His trenchcoat hung loosely, almost pathetically, over his white hospital uniform, with his expression openly broken, and Dean cared nothing for it. _No one cares that you’re broken, Cas. Clean up your mess!_

He hadn’t stood up for Cas back then, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to stand by and let his brother project his own issues on their longest, closest friend. Especially, because this longest, closest friend had somehow _fallen in love_ with this unspeakably idiotic, emotionally-stunted man.

Sam laughed. Two could play at this game. “You know what? I’m not going to tell you. Because you already know it.”

His brother smirked back, but he was clearly now on guard, eyes flicking warily around the room, as if searching for an escape route. “What the hell, Sam? A guessing game?”

“You know, don’t you?” Sam was pushing; he knew he was, but Dean was just going to have to hear this. “You know, but you won’t admit it because you’re a coward. If you can’t shoot it, you just run the other way.”

Predictably, Dean countered: “You’re the one to talk! Who ran off to Stanford? Who ran off barely a few months when we started hunting again? Who ran off with Ruby—“

“You know what, maybe I’m not the paragon of virtue, but Dean—you never ran away because Dad shackled you.”

Dean stood still for an unbearable few seconds. Sam saw stiff shoulders and clicked heels in cramped motel rooms, _yessirs_ and _Dad saids_ exchanged near the Impala _,_  andwarm smiles and open arms in the precious few minutes they had in Heaven, with Mom. He felt a prickle go up his throat, because he felt he had reached inside of Dean, stripped away his armor, and laid it bare for everyone in the room to see, exposing something so private that even he couldn’t fully understand.

“What’s this have to do with Dad?” Dean nearly whispered.

Sam didn’t want to continue. He shouldn’t have, but the way Dean asked that, the way Dean kept alternating between _Dad_ and _John,_ the way he had slowly peeled off the layers of empty grins and rough orders since Dad died.

“A lot of crap built up in you is because Dad turned you into his good little soldier, turned you into nothing _but yes, sirs_ and _shoot anything that moves._ ” Dean needed to _see;_ Dean needed to understand that maybe Dad did try his best in raising them, but he’d twisted them, especially Dean, into something Mom never would have wanted them to grow up as. “Come on, Dean, face it: if Dad were here—hell, even in the bunker, would you really be cooking and holding movie marathons and wearing something other than Dad’s beat-up leather jacket?”

For an instant, Sam thought he’d pushed him too far. Dean was silent, looking as if the rug had been yanked right under his feet, sending him tumbling to the ground. He glanced to his side, and Cas seemed to be contemplating his expression. His blue eyes softened with sympathy.

With that, Dean shook his head, hollowly laughed, and turned towards the door.

“Screw you, Sam,” Dean snapped, and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer than I thought, and I apologize. Chapters will be starting, now, to be posted regularly on Sundays.


	7. Chapter 7

When Aaron was fourteen, his father caught him with the Berkowitz boy in his bedroom.

He and Jacob had frozen in place, Jacob’s hand still resting under his shirt, and Aaron thought his father would cancel his bar mitzvah, throw him out, and curse him for being a failure of the family and the community. Aaron had been fully aware that being who he was wasn’t a cause of a happy celebration, and he’d tried his best to avoid letting anyone know, but Grandfather had found out somehow.

He had pulled him aside one day after temple and told him he knew, that it wasn’t wrong, that it was another thing that made Aaron special, but Aaron had pushed him aside. A guy who made up stories about golems and being part of some secret society or something wasn’t, in Aaron’s opinion, someone who knew what he was talking about.

It was his father was the model, upstanding figure of the local Jewish community, and when he spoke, everyone listened and followed. If he disapproved of something, everyone knew and tried to correct it, the disapproval carrying more weight than anything else.

Aaron knew he couldn’t correct _this_ , and if he couldn’t fix this, then his dad would—his dad would—

All his dad did was blink.

“You told me you had just a friend over” was all he said, before making his exit. “Next time, give me a warning.”

Dean, it seemed, did not have his father.

“Jesus, go away,” the man cursed when he caught sight of him. Aaron personally wouldn’t have chosen the costumes room, but he dealt with issues in a different way than Dean Winchester. “Just leave me alone. I know I fucked up.”

“You did put your foot in your mouth.”

“Thank you for reminding me. Please show yourself out, or do you want to add to Sam’s commentary, too?”

* * *

Reminding him of what he did wrong wasn’t helping Dean at _all._

“You know,” Aaron said, clearly sensing the ol' fight or flight Dean was displaying. “It’s not just about liking guys, is it? It’s liking a certain one.”

“I—“ Dean swallowed, keeping a steady gaze on the floor. He shook his head. “Damn it.”

“It’s not a terrible revelation, is it?” Aaron asked.

Usually when someone liked you back, you celebrated, cheered, and immediately agreed to a date, as soon as possible, but Dean…Dean didn’t know what was wrong now. Cassie had told him she loved him, and Dean—well, he never really said it back. He loved her with this huge, encompassing swell that he never felt before, just _staying_ in one place for more than one hurried night. It was so _new_ , too foreign that it began pushing him away even before he knew it was happening.

Lisa—well, he had screwed up royally with Lisa. _Best year of my life_ —and that was another issue that got swept under the rug, too. Lisa had been someone he couldn’t consider a sister, a simple friend, or a lover. She was a partner, someone who opened her home to a broken shell of a man and gave him a brief taste of what life _could_ have been without the monsters and road trips. Lisa and Ben were family, almost, but Dean couldn’t bring himself to think of them like that, most likely moved away and enjoying life without him.

He was a curse. He was poison. Things ended badly with Cassie, worse with Lisa, and— _Cas..._

Sam was right. He knew the hints that had piled up so large that it was no longer easy to ignore. He remembered the bar, _ET goes home_ , the sense of _home_ —not in the way Cassie or Lisa gave him, but something too close in his chest—and even then, he might have known.

The Nephilim. The Cupid.

And now…

“If it’s true…he lost everything. For nothing.” Cas had been newly fallen, justly bitter about this failure, this mess Dean had started, and the words rang true, even after these years. He just couldn’t explain it, not to Aaron—who he only knew for less than a week—or even Sam, the profound sense of _I didn’t deserve it._ “It’s Cas. I owe him so much—“

“Love isn’t about owing,” Aaron cut in. “Do you love him because you owe him?”

“No, I—“ _Love._ It was such a heavy meaning for such a small word. “Damn it, Aaron. It’s just this…clusterfuck of things. I’m not—I don’t think I am—Dad—“

John Winchester was buried under layer after layer, and Dean had tried to distance himself from certain parts depending on the situation. When Dad was alive, he had ignored the bites and stings, told himself to shove them away for later, and never ended up looking at them again. Now that Dad was gone—and as far as he knew—was never coming back, the mess and clutter that he had forced down was slowly escaping from the box, one thing after another.

Aaron was quiet for a moment, then asked: “Did he do something to you?”

“Well, not _really._ ” Dad never learned about the other ways Dean made money when the stack of cash ran out and when the pool table people looked sharper than usual, and Dean made sure that if he _did_ decide to leave with a guy, Dad was out of town for a good number of weeks. He knew enough from hunts and brief chats in the Impala that Dad wouldn’t throw him a party if he found out who his son was. “But I knew exactly how he felt, and I thought…I like chicks, too. Maybe if I focused on that part of myself, I was in the clear. I mean,” he continued. “I don’t know.”

“Why are you letting your dad get a hold of you like this? I mean, he’s dead, right?”

“I…yeah. He is.” Dean confirmed. He wasn’t sure, now, why Dad was still haunting his memories. Part of it was wrapped up in how he felt, but most of it—it was just _Cas._ They had been through so much together, some things that counted more as…

Cas wasn’t just an ally. They had gotten way past that stage. Cas wasn’t just a friend, either. Well, he _was_ the best and—before Kevin and Charlie came along—only friend he had in a long while. There had been Ash and Jo, for example, but they were family, and Cas wasn’t…

He was in an all-together different category.

He was—

His phone buzzed angrily, and Dean thought it was Sam texting him to make sure everything was okay, but it vibrated longer and longer. It was a call.

“I better get that.” Dean said, mostly to avoid more awkward silence and fumbled for his phone. _Cas._ Maybe…maybe he wanted to talk, too. Maybe they could get this straightened out and—

Dean raised the phone to his ear, trying to rehearse what he might say, besides _Hey, Cas,_ then froze at the voice on the end of the line.

“Cas? _Cas_!”

* * *

The phone rang with a shrill screech of a Kansas song, and Krissy nearly jumped on her way back to the billiards room for the nth time. She had to sneak past security, who were telling everyone to relocate for unknown reasons. Krissy had a hunch about what was happening, and to her disgruntlement, flirted with one of the guards to let her pass to find her friend. Glancing down at the caller ID, she sighed in relief at the contact number. _Claire_ flashed across the screen, along with a picture of Claire and herself posing in front of a church, and she thought, _Finally._

“Hello?” she answered.

“Krissy!” Her heart staggered as Claire's frantic tone reached her ears. “Krissy, help me, please! It’s Abaddon, she—“

There was a short scream, and the voice on the other end fell silent.

“Claire? Claire!” Krissy dialed again, but there was only empty silence.

She had to find Claire.


	8. I'm back, baby!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Supernatural Wiki as a quick reference, and of course, you patient readers. I know I haven't updated in forever, and I offer my eternal apologies. Happy finale tonight, and of course, happy hellatus!

Abaddon stretched, smiling widely. She loved Josie’s body: muscled in a way most women weren’t in that time, with fists ready to punch and wild, fiery-red hair. The Knight of Hell still remembered how Josie stormed into the dusty old church after another argument with the Men of Letter council, cursing and shaking. Her face was speckled with blood, blood that matched her hair, tied up in a careless pony tail.

 _Who do they think they are?_ she’d snarled. _I’m just their glorified secretary, taping demon cures and typing letters. I can plunge a needle into a monster’s fucking flesh!_ Abaddon had watched as Josie’s lips trembled, how her fingers clenched on a shard of rubble, how a window smashed in a satisfying crescendo. _And when it doesn’t work, they blame it on me! Josie, you should have been more careful. Josie, you should have gotten out of the way. Josie, Josie, Josie!_

It was almost too easy to manipulate her. Abaddon knew that it wasn’t required, not at all, to ask permission, but willing hosts made it easier for her to move around. Quieter, too. With a few honeyed words about how Abaddon knew a way to make the Men of Letters treat her with respect, elevate her, make her the _queen_ of that hamfisted organization, Josie had immediately jumped at the chance.

Abaddon was fond of Josie, and even though it wasn’t necessary for a demon to repair meatsuits time and time again, she still liked the familiarity of it. Recalling how she possessed Josie reminded Abaddon how much she liked the game. She liked pretty humans, liked toying with them, liked prying apart shattered souls just enough for her to slip in. The challenge was perverse and delightful, and she sighed with pleasure.

 _Dean will know,_ the angel warned, but Abaddon could sense the fear as easily as anything. _And I won’t let you—_

“Hurt him?” Abaddon sneered. “I’m afraid you already have.”

She smirked. Guilt was delicious. The agony of Josie when warm blood first dripped down her own fingers was something Abaddon occasionally took time to go over in her mind with relish.

Right on cue, footsteps approached the room, with a familiar voice calling, “Cas? Cas?”

_Showtime._

“Dean,” Abaddon whimpered, putting just the right amount of panic in Castiel’s tone. “Dean, in here.”

The older Winchester stumbled in, and at the sight of his angel kneeling on the floor, lowered his gun. “Cas! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. But Abaddon—I think she was here—” Abaddon pointed to the girl, crumpled in the corner, blonde hair falling over her face. “I found her like this.”

“Oh my god. Is she okay?” Who knew Dean Winchester would have a soft spot for kids? The man completely ignored everything else as he bent down next to the body, checking her pulse. “She seems knocked out, but why would Abaddon leave her like this? You’d think a bloodthirsty bitch like her would just gut her.”

 _Oh, I was going to, but after Castiel’s little plea, I had a better idea._ “I don’t know. But we should get out of here, get some help.”

“You’re right.” Dean scooped up the girl, one hand reaching for the phone tucked in his jeans. “I can call Sam—”

“Wait.” Abaddon placed Castiel’s hand on Dean’s arm, and the hunter stiffened. _Too easy._ “I’m sorry. About what happened.”

“Don’t mention it.” Dean replied, his tone serious. Abaddon detected an undercurrent of vulnerability, and tried her best not to smile. Perfect.

_Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare._

Abaddon ignored this, coming closer and putting both hands on Dean’s shoulders. They were close, close enough to feel Dean’s breath against her lips. “Dean, I…I’ve always wanted to tell you—”

“Claire!”

Abaddon mentally groaned. Now what?

A girl, the same age as the one in Dean’s arms, stormed in with the gangly Winchester and another girl Abaddon didn’t know, with red hair almost the same shade as Josie’s. All had guns, all pointed at her. “What have you done with Claire?”

“Whoa!” Dean shouted. “Watch who you’re pointing those at! Claire’s fine, I’ve got her, and Cas—”

“Cas?” the younger girl’s eyes narrowed. “But Claire called me; she said Abaddon—”

Dean’s eyes widened, almost comically, in realization. Abaddon half expected him to drop the girl as he whirled around to face her. “You’re—”

“Guilty,” Abaddon interrupted, swinging her arm to one side. Dean went flying across the room, the girl sliding from his arms, and the three opened fire. Abaddon smirked, repeating the motion before the bullets could touch her, and they all fell to the ground, weapons sliding across the floor.

“And I thought this would have been a bit more fun. I was about to hightail about of here with what I wanted, before giving you and the angel something you’d never forget.” Abaddon sighed. “If only your friends weren’t such—what are the kids calling it? Cockblockers?”

Dean trembled, fingers already reaching for his gun. “You _bitch_.”

Abaddon crossed the room and ground her heel down on his fingers. She heard him muffle a gasp as fractures cracked along his bones. “He’s always loved you, Dean,” Abaddon said sweetly, in Castiel’s gravelly voice. Dean’s eyes widened, ever so slightly. “Which makes it doubly satisfying that I get to kill him.”

“No!” Dean reached with another hand, but Abaddon simply stepped on that one, too with a mocking, “Dean, Dean, Dean. Stop interrupting, that’s not how you get a date.”

“ _Exorcizamus te_ —”

Abaddon silenced the brown-haired girl, annoyed. “Rude. And don’t bother, that doesn’t work on me.”

“What do you want, Abaddon?” Sam hissed, sounding as if he bruised a rib. Good. The red-haired one appeared to be unconscious, mouth fallen open and fingers limply outstretched. Also good.

“Oh, to take over Hell. Usurp that pathetic, weeping, so-called King of Hell. Overrun the Earth with my army. I’m a girl who likes to be ambitious.” Abaddon smiled. “But a bee in my bonnet is you Winchesters and Company. Especially with an angel at your side, but from what I hear, a useless, grimy little _human.”_

Castiel, still in the back of her mind, winced.

“But my duty as queen is to stay current, and here’s what I’ve been hearing around the grapevine: the angels are walking the earth, wings clipped, and one particular little weasel is _human_. Someone who has a fondness for a certain green-eyed human.”

Dean, on the ground, was silent, but Abaddon could sense the denial, doubt, and anger rolling off of him.

“So, Dean. This way, I get to kill two birds with one stone. I get to end the love of your life and break you, along with the final ingredient to reverse the locked out of Heaven spell. It will be easy pickings for me, then.”

The hunter gasped. “What?”

The look of shock and heartbreak was too much. Abaddon gave in, and laughed, loudly.

“You call him your brother, don’t you? But he’s so much more. Love isn’t like water you can pour into a cup forever, and I’ve heard a lot about you. You have nothing left in you. Why waste your time on someone you’ll just hurt?” Abaddon bent down and easily picked up the gun on the floor. “This way is easier.”

That’s when something struck her in the chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Josie agreed to be possessed in Season 9 to save Henry, but I personally thought the hint in Season 8 about Josie seeking power was more intriguing, so I rolled with that instead. I forgot how much I love writing villains, so Abaddon was super interesting for me to attempt. 
> 
> The next chapter is halfway written, so hold onto those hats! It's coming either tonight or the very next day! Thanks to those who've been following this story, especially wisepuma23.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one night. Aw, yes!

Abaddon dropped the gun.

She growled at Charlie, whose head was still swimming from the wall collision and fingers still trembling on the grip on her gun. She didn’t think she could stand just now, so Charlie stayed on her knees as the demon’s head turned towards her. Charlie honestly shivered when the sharp eyes fixed on her. “Like that will—“

The Queen froze, legs not moving and eyes widening. Her lip curled in fury, teeth bared in a snarl. “What—“

“Oh,” Sam said beside Charlie, standing up. “How’s that saying go? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice—”

“Looks like we’re going to the same old decapitating and dismembering business,” Dean interrupted, rolling over on his side and slowly getting to his feet. He clenched his fist, then winced when it disturbed his injuries. Krissy was still on the ground, eyes wide, and Claire was still folded on herself in the corner. Charlie noticed that Krissy looked stricken, almost helpless.

Abaddon only laughed. “You think you’ll honestly destroy the one you love? More than once?” She raised her arms—no, _Cas’ arms_ —and Charlie fought a gasp. No. She’d forgotten.

But Abaddon hadn’t.

Sam gritted his teeth, then glanced at Charlie and beckoned Dean closer. “I have an idea.” He lowered his voice: “Dean, remember when we wouldn’t tell you, back in the room?”

“Yeah, the final ingredient.” Dean scowled. “Thanks for making me have to hear it from a _demon._ ”

“Well,” Charlie continued patiently. “There was something else. The trivia game.”

If Dean wasn’t so angry, Charlie was sure that he’d roll his eyes. “You know, guys, I really don’t see—“

“The question was,” Sam continued, ignoring Dean, “what broke the connection in the crypt?”

Dean’s face shifted. “How did you—“

“The books, Dean,” Charlie impatiently said. “Come on, Dean. What broke the connection?”

For a long moment, Dean didn’t say anything, and for a horrible minute, Charlie thought he wouldn’t remember, either out of blatant refusal or the classic Winchester approach of always being repressed. She remembered how Dean created new memories of Purgatory, that he refused to believe Cas would let go of his hand, that he continued to believe the whole thing was entirely his fault—of course—until Cas touched his forehead and made him face the facts. What if that had happened?

But it was clear Dean _did_ remember. He looked at Abaddon, in Cas’ body, a cruel smirk twisting Cas’ usually kind features, and clenched his jaw. His eyes were filled with indecision, then pain, then determination.

Dean hesitated, before saying, “Sam, Charlie, get Krissy and Claire out of here.”

“We’re not leaving you alone, Dean,” Sam said.

“Well, I’m not doing this with you watching,” Dean replied.

Charlie, this time, rolled her eyes. “Dean. We’re not letting you throw yourself on a grenade because you don’t want us to hear what we already know. We’re staying.”

Dean sighed, then, glancing to the side, raised his voice. “Krissy? Can you—“

Krissy, eyes still wide, nodded resolutely. “Gotcha. I’ll get us out. But...Claire's a fast healer. We can—”

“You’re a kid, Krissy; both of you are. I don’t deny that you guys are capable, but you need to get both of you out.”

“Okay.” Krissy said slowly, already taking Claire and draping her over her shoulder. “Should I…do something? Call for backup? Get something from the car?”

Dean shook his head. “Just get out of here.”

Krissy nodded again, looking at Dean with worry, but slowly exited, eyes fixed on Cas’ body, standing rigidly in the middle of the room. Charlie cautiously raised her firearm, just in case, and Sam did the same as Dean walked alone towards Cas.

“Cas?” he said, slowly. “Can you hear me?”

Abaddon laughed again. “You’re kidding me, here, Dean.”

But Dean continued, looking at Abaddon-- _no, Cas_ \--in the eyes: “Cas, I need you to push her out. I know you can do this. You’re not useless. Abaddon’s wrong. You’re human, for the first time, and that’s tough to go through. And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have make the transition tougher on you by—” Dean then paused, obviously struggling to form the right words.

The demon said, sweetly. “Keep thinking, Dean. I know it’s hard for you.”

Dean gritted his teeth, fingers fighting not to clench into a fist. _Come on, Dean,_ Charlie prayed. _You can do this._

“For years, I’ve said a lot of things. But I haven’t said the right one.”

Charlie noticed Abaddon’s shoulder begin to twitch, and she aimed. Sam did the same, heaving careful breaths. Was Cas struggling? Or was the Devil’s Trap bullet not working?

“Cas, I…I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time. I still do.”

Abaddon hissed, like water on a hot stovetop, head jerking. _“No! No! No!”_ A tiny wisp of black smoke begin to escape her mouth. “Impossible! No!”

Dean continued, repeating himself, louder: “Cas, I need you.”

“No!” the queen roared, then smiled, terrible and certain.

Charlie’s finger trembled on the trigger. Sam's breath grew shallower.

“Even if I can’t move my legs, I can break my neck!” Abaddon roared, and Dean cried, _“NO!”_ as Abaddon’s neck rose and—


	10. Chapter 10

“Claire? Claire? Oh my God, Claire, please wake up.”

_Krissy?_

“Claire, come on.” Light pressure on the side of her neck. “Claire, I know you’re there. Please answer me so I know you’re alive. Please.”

Long red hair, swooping over a dark leather jacket. Sharp fingernails holding her head in place. Laughter, malicious and hateful. The smell of sulfur.

_You have angel in you._

What did that even mean? She hadn’t been an angel, not for a long time…

“We have to get help. Abaddon—“

Yes, Abaddon. The demon queen. The tickling of sharp, acrid smoke at her lips.

_I’ve always wanted to possess an angel, but you—you seem easier to tame than those winged stick in the muds...pain in my side for millennium…_

Her dad—no, not her dad—rushing into the room, hands up, pleading for Abaddon to stop, to not hurt her—

The way Abaddon slowly pulled herself away from Claire’s face, looked at the man in the doorway, and smirked. _Castiel. So nice of you to join us._

She felt her eyelids twitching. Light peeked through the darkness, so bright that it almost hurt.

“Okay, okay, that’s good. Claire, please, try to say something.”

Claire opened her mouth, eyes still closed, but instead, gasped. Something in her chest burned and flickered.

“Ow,” she muttered, slowly sitting up.

“Oh, thank God,” Krissy said, throwing her arms around Claire’s shoulders. “Abaddon knocked you out, and Castiel—he’s back, by the way—got possessed—it looks really bad, and I’m thinking, we should try to get some help—“ She winced. “I don’t know where the others are—Castiel came with friends, and I never got their contact info, so they could be anywhere in these buildings, but we have to think of a plan, quickly—“

_Castiel’s in danger._

_Why should I help him?_ Claire thought. Castiel had kidnapped her father, brought him back, and left without another word. And years later, when Claire turned on the TV, there were reports on every channel, about a man who was murdering people all over the United States, even entire towns and cities. Even though she and her mother had long since moved, Claire had waited for a knock on the door—police officers, FBI agents, maybe even Castiel himself –but none came to ask about Jimmy Novak. Whether Castiel put some sort of illusion or if it was because her mother had filed paperwork to declare her husband dead, Claire didn’t know.

She still remembered her mother’s sobbing, clutching the copies in a manila folder, and Claire’s own anger. _Dad isn’t dead! Dad will come back! Dad wouldn’t leave us!_

The lamp in the living room had exploded.

Claire never forgot how horrified her mother looked.

She always tried to keep her temper after that, but an intense need always burned under her skin, calling her, and Claire channeled that into hunting demons. She’d worked alone, until Krissy Chambers came along. Claire knew Krissy from school, someone who trusted almost no one, until she’d discovered Claire dislocating a local mailman’s jaw—who was _not_ the mailman—while trying to reach for her holy water. Little by little, they’d become friends, and Claire eventually shared the truth about her family, and Krissy revealed that she lived with her friends, Aiden and Josephine, after their guardian had betrayed them and killed their families.

Josephine attended the local community college and was immersed in her studies and new friends, while Aiden and Krissy had recently broken up, so things in the house were awkward. Soon, Krissy was spending most of her time at Claire’s house: watching Netflix, talking, or exchanging hunting tips.

“…I’m thinking, since Abaddon doesn’t respond to exorcisms, but she got shot with some kind of bullet, Devil’s Trap, maybe?”

Claire closed her eyes. _What do I know about Abaddon?_

From Bible study, Revelation. King of locusts. That wasn’t too helpful.

But something else filled in the blanks, burning sharply in her head, the same sensation in her chest: former fallen angel, Knight of Hell, powerful, dangerous.

_Angel…_

Her anger. That spark inside of her. The broken lamp, her too-strong punches, her scattered pockets of information she knew nothing about…

Was it possible that…

“I think I know what to do. Or at least a hint of it,” Claire heard herself saying. “Krissy, can you give me a hand?”

Krissy helped pull Claire to her feet, with both hands. “What’s the plan?”

"I'm not sure, but I have a hunch..."

 As they began to go back to the room, Claire realized that their hands were still connected. Krissy looked at her, grip loosening just the slightest, but Claire didn’t let go.

Maybe Castiel screwed up their lives. But Claire wasn’t ruined or broken. She had school, her mom, a house, and Krissy.

Besides, she wasn’t the type of person who walked away from someone who needed her.

Krissy looked desperate. “Claire, you’re not telling me…”

“Krissy, remember when I talked about Castiel? When he possessed me?”

Krissy nodded, slowly.

“I think he might have left something in me.”

“Claire—”

“You know how I seem to be unusually just…strong? Or heal?” Claire continues. “Krissy, our hunts…remember the church two weeks ago? Where we took that picture?”

Krissy nodded.

“Remember? I broke a finger. But it healed in two weeks. _Two._ ”

Krissy nodded again, slowly. “So, you’re…what? Part angel?”

“No…” Claire said. “But enough to maybe scare Abaddon. She’s _afraid_ of angels, right?”

“Well, she was pleased about the fall, about the angels being depowered…” Krissy mused. “But I bet all demons are kind of afraid of angels.” She huffed, blowing strands of hair out of her face. “But Claire, we don’t have a plan. Are you really going to waltz in there and…what? You can’t do any fancy tricks.”

“Depowered…” Claire frowned. “I remember something like that from the _Supernatural_ panel I went to when we split up…”

“Some sort of spell, I guess. But Abaddon mentioned something—that Castiel was a sort of a reverse-spell component. To get the angels back in Heaven, but obviously…Abaddon wants to stop that. That’s why she nabbed him.” Krissy frowned. “He’s human now, but…”

“Oh,” Claire interrupted, starting to put it all together. “Castiel’s Grace was part of that spell. I remember. But to reverse it…did she say she needs his Grace?”

Krissy shrugged. “No. She just---she was just going to kill him. Maybe it’s his blood that will reverse it?”

Claire closed her eyes, trying to think. “If I’m right…then…”

Slowly, she started to think of something.

 _Dad,_ she prayed. _I hope this works._


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter in one day! Yes! 
> 
> I think maybe one more chapter after this, then an epilogue? Then, it's all coming to an end...

This was the worst thought out plan _ever,_ Krissy decided.

“Hey!” Claire shouted, striding into the room, hand still clutched in Krissy’s. “Remember me?”

Castiel— _Abaddon_ , Krissy reminded herself, stopped mid-neck move to look at her, and Krissy heard audible sighs of relief. Dean looked as if he might slump to the ground, hands still raised as if in surrender. He didn’t just look scared—he looked mind-numbingly _petrified,_ and Krissy wondered, not for the first time, if she and Claire really knew what they were up against.

The demon glared. “Again with the interruptions! I should just kill you and your friend where you stand!”

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll want to,” Claire said, voice eerily calm, but Krissy felt Claire’s fingers trembling in her grip. She squeezed Claire’s hand in a wordless vote of confidence, and Claire repeated the gesture before continuing, “I have something you want." 

Abaddon rolled both her eyes and her neck—the full Monty—and Krissy noticed Dean tense again. “What could you possibly have—“

“Castiel’s Grace,” Claire proclaimed, voice loud.

Everyone in the room paused.

“What?” Sam asked breathlessly.

“When Castiel possessed me, he left a little behind. That’s why you could sense I had something in me.” Claire explained, and Krissy felt moisture gather in between their palms. “And the spell that made the angels fall? The third ingredient was Castiel’s Grace. I think you’ll need to get it back to reverse the spell. There’s just no way a mere human can end it, right?”

Abaddon seriously seemed to be considering it, before saying, “What do you have to gain by this? I’m not in the business with bargaining with _mere humans.”_

Claire’s grip tightened, and Krissy could actually feel her bones creak.

“I hate angels," Claire declared. "They’re the reason my family was screwed up, long ago. They deserve to have a little coming to them.” Her voice was bitter and sharp. “And Castiel? I bet he wants to be an angel again, to help out and all, but I don’t think he deserves it.”

Abaddon’s eyebrows raised. “Interesting.” She threw back her head, laughing. “This is _willing?”_

“Yeah,” Claire said firmly. “Willing. In fact, I’m on board with you. Possessing Castiel? He’s the one who deserves to know what _that_ feels like for a chance.”

 _“What?”_ Dean gasped, horrified. “Claire, you can’t, Krissy, please—“

Krissy looked Dean in the eyes. “Claire’s got a point. And the angels—they’re dicks. Why should we let them run around the world? Possess innocent people?”

“But you and Cas—you helped him—“

“Before I realized what a monster he was.” Krissy gritted her teeth. “Look, I believe Claire, and I’ll stand by her. No matter what.”

“How very touching,” Abaddon spoke up, in sarcastic, sickeningly-sweet vein. “Sorry, boys. Guess little Castiel isn’t such a saint after all.” She jerked her head in a sort of _come here_ gesture. “We can just do this right now. Come here, I’ll extract the Grace, and destroy it, right before everyone’s eyes.”

_I need to get close enough so I can touch her._

_Claire,_ Krissy prayed. _I really hope this works._

Claire nodded calmly. “All right.” She began to step forward.

“No.” Abaddon commanded, eyeing them suspiciously. “Leave your girlfriend there. You come alone.”

Claire nearly crushed her hand in hers, and slowly, she let go of Krissy’s hand.

“Claire…” Krissy whispered, heart pounding, but Claire wordlessly began her journey to the middle of the room, not looking back.

“No, Claire, please—” Dean was saying, along with Charlie’s “come on, don’t do this” and Sam’s “Claire, she’s trying to destroy the world, don’t—”

But Claire kept walking.

Abaddon only watched Claire make her way towards her. The demon seemed calm, but a glint of greed hinted in her eyes. Krissy wondered if she was worried at all, but reasoned that Abaddon probably didn’t think Claire could hurt her. She was very powerful, after all.

 _But,_ Krissy also remembered, _she can’t move._

Before Claire could step within reaching distance, she stopped.

Abaddon snarled: “Well? What are you doing?”

“I’ll do this, if you promise to let me and Krissy go safely.” Claire said, stubbornly crossing her arms.

Abaddon sighed. “Deal. Just sit tight. This won’t hurt a bit.”

Something uneasy squirmed in Krissy’s stomach. Something told her that it _would_ hurt. She looked at the three people near her, wearing identical expressions of doubt, and Krissy tried her best not to panic. She had to trust in Claire. She had to.

“Claire,” Dean tried again, “come on, Abaddon’s a double-crossing bitch, she won’t let you two out alive—”

“Shut up,” Abaddon said, and Dean’s mouth kept moving, without any sound coming out.

_Abaddon still had her powers._

“Claire—” Krissy started to say, but Claire moved fast. She lunged forward, clearing the remaining steps, and reached out her hand—

Abaddon howled, “You little—” and grabbed Claire, snapping her arm, and Claire let out a shrill scream before Abaddon raised her own arm and flicked. Claire went soaring through the air, skidding on the ground, stopping right before her head touched the wall.

Abaddon could still move her arms!

Krissy ran forward. Everyone else raised their weapons, but apparently realized that they might shoot her or Claire by mistake. Dean was the first to throw down his gun and race to the middle, and Charlie and Sam soon followed.

But Abaddon was faster. Electricity crackled, and sparks flew, landing on the carpet. Whether the carpet was highly flammable, or whether it was Abaddon’s powers, a ring of fire surrounded her, along with a wall that stopped the pursuit for Claire, still on the ground. Abaddon then dug her fingernails into her chest—bright red blood rolled down the pale fingers and the black shirt, and she laughed when a gleam of metal emerged. Pinching it between her index finger and thumb, she flicked it casually to the ground, and with a wave of her hand, the flames dispersed, and she headed towards Claire.

But Claire hadn’t hit her head, and Krissy remembered Claire’s broken finger story.

As Abaddon reached Claire, expression murderous, Claire latched her fingers around Abaddon’s reaching hand and grabbed her wrist, lightning-fast.

The demon grimaced, surprise flickering across her features, and Claire, taking advantage, _yanked_ Abaddon’s face almost level to the ground, and slammed a palm across Abaddon’s forehead.

* * *

 Castiel screamed.

It _burned_.

He’d smote many enemies over the years, many of his brothers and sisters, and walked away with the screams in his ears. Uriel used to say that the music of the unrighteous being punished was pleasing to the ears, but Castiel, before, never thought of it as that. He saw it more of a necessity, a duty, but the since he fell to Earth, something changed. Castiel remembered blasting Zachariah away with the angel banishing sigil, remembering feeling a spark of triumph mixed with panic and horror, remembering how Dean looked at him afterward, with astonishment and relief…

Castiel had been banished before, wounded, and even died (twice) _._ Yet somehow, this seemed significant—his own _Grace_ was killing him…

Abaddon howled, black smoke ripping away from Castiel’s being, and her screams soon joined with his, but he sensed panic at the fringes. She was smarter than most demons, and already, he could feel her claws, her stain on his soul, release. His mouth moved, not out of his own free will, to curse Claire, curse Krissy, curse the Winchesters and their _red-headed little witch_ —but his lips soon parted wide, as Abaddon made her escape. Black smoke choked him as it exited, but his body felt lighter— _freer_.

He heard Krissy screaming Claire’s name, Charlie asking everyone frantically if Abaddon was gone and if Castiel was okay, Sam muttering _oh my god oh my god oh my god,_ and Dean yelling _Cas! Cas! Stay with me, damnit!_

Castiel collapsed, feeling arms around him to cushion the fall. He smelled gunpowder and leather. _Dean._

He knew that Abaddon would be back to fight another day, but for now, for now, he was safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love hearing what everyone has to say about this story, so feel free to drop a line here and tell me if this made you breathe a little easier after the scare I put y'all through...


	12. Chapter 12

“It’s all right now; don’t worry about me. The waiting room didn’t take as long as we thought, so I’ll just drop the girls off wherever they’re staying and head up to the motel when we’re done.”

Kevin, adjusting the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, sighed. “I’m just glad no one got killed.” The prophet finished packing Dean and Charlie’s cosplay costumes, taking a glance around the room to make sure everyone else was ready to leave. He watched Dean fuss over Cas back in the empty convention room, hands on both shoulders, with their noses nearly touching. Sam was sitting on the ground, talking to Aaron and Becky, both looking worried. “What did you even tell them?”

“I already told them Claire got into a crowd crush at one of the panels, and Krissy wanted to come because…you know.” Charlie’s voice was fond.

“What?” Kevin then noticed Dean embracing Cas, eyes closed and everything, and got it. “Oh…I didn’t catch that…”

Charlie laughed. “Well, _I_ didn’t want to mention it to Krissy in case this was her first girl crush and at this age…well, sometimes when you confess your love for a good friend…” Her voice trailed off, before settling on: “it doesn’t work out as well as you hoped.”

“I’m guessing it worked out.”

“Well, _yeah._ Walked in holding hands and everything. I’ll give you the full story and everything, because Claire was _badass._ Really sold the whole show, and even with a broken arm and a concussion, she totally took down Abaddon. Well, she had a go after Dean…”

“Oh, yeah.” Kevin rolled his eyes. “The power of love? Really?”

“Hey, it almost worked! And don’t you criticize the method; it worked before! And Dean kind of knows that…well, feeling’s mutual.”

“Geez, you’re not seriously worrying about Dean and Cas’ romantic state at this time?”

“Hey, it’s my way of trying to…you know, process the whole thing. Calm myself down. Besides,” Charlie sighed, “everything’s over for now, and I doubt Abaddon’s going to try the same trick twice. As soon as we wrap it up tomorrow, we’ll go home and think of ways to stop the demon queen in her tracks and…end this.”

Kevin sighed. “I just…I just want this all to be over. My mom…” He felt a lump rising in his throat, trying his best to force out the next words around it: “Crowley won’t talk to me, and I just…I’m worried that she’s…she’s…”

“Kev, we’re going to find her,” Charlie’s tone was sharp and sure, so sure that Kevin could almost believe it. “If we have to go in there and physically shake Crowley down, I’ll be there with thumbscrews.”

The prophet laughed. “Thanks.” He lowered his voice: “What about you, Charlie? What do you want to do if—when this is over?”

Charlie sighed. “Maybe invent something cool, try to find an IT job I like in the meantime, and marry ScarJo or Natalie Dormer. But, I don’t know, Kev. I’ve gotten pretty cozy in the bunker. Maybe I can do all of those things…there? I have to admit, hunting is risky thing, and I don’t want to kick it too soon. But saving the world? That’s the kind of stuff I dreamed about ever since Mom read me _The Hobbit_.”

“I don’t know, either…” Kevin watched Sam shake hands with Aaron and Becky, Becky looking as if she might slide to the ground, but keeping herself as composed as she could. “I’m not even sure if I could get into Princeton—fairly!” he said quickly, knowing what Charlie was about to say. “I don’t even know if I could sit in a regular college and have my biggest worries be passing finals and running for student government. But I _want_ to not have my life being dogged by demons or douse everyone with holy water wherever I go.”

“I forget that you’re…nineteen?”

“Eighteen,” Kevin corrected, wearily. His birthday was coming up, and it would be the first one without his mom or friends…

Maybe _different_ friends, to be fair, but he’d thought that _different_ would mean college friends, from clubs or fraternities or classes, not people older than nearly half his age who saved the world on the regular basis. Kevin was supposed to be in college: reassuring his mom that he wasn’t attending wild college parties, studying all throughout the night, talking to his girlfriend, or gaining the freshmen fifteen at the dorm. He wasn’t supposed to be this mystical Buffy; though instead of kicking and punching, he was reading tablets that hurt his eyes and were supposed to cleanse the world of demons.

“You have your whole life ahead of you, then,” Charlie said, interrupting his thoughts.  

“With the Winchesters? Not that long.” Kevin sighed, waving to Aaron and Becky as they left. “I guess I have to enjoy it while it lasts. And maybe…it isn’t too bad. I kind of like when I’m not concentrating on the stupid tablet to check out the bunker and learn lore once in a while. And this weekend _was_ kind of fun. You know, before the demons started possessing people…”

“ _Excuse me?_ What do you mean by _that_?”

“I’m only saying—”

“I know what you’re saying, Dean, and I swear that you are the most _idiotic, infuriating—”_

“Aw, crap, they’re arguing again,” Kevin groaned, just as Cas stood up and marched out the door, Dean yelling after him, gesturing furiously. “Will it ever end?”

* * *

 

Dean had to follow Cas.

How could he have been so stupid? Especially after today, especially after an argument that resulted in Cas storming off, especially after _Abaddon…_

He wasn’t letting him go again.

So, Dean rushed for the door, calling, "Cas! Cas!"  
  
He eventually found him sitting on one of the convention’s empty stages, arms folded almost protectively over his chest. Cas wasn't looking at anything in particular; his eyes were staring blankly at the lights on the ceiling, then close, and he would heave a heavy sigh.  
  
Dean approached him as quietly as he could, slipping in next to him. "Cas."  
  
Cas turned slowly, uncertainly, and nodded carefully at him. "Dean."  
  
"Hey," Dean said awkwardly.  
  
The other man sighed. "Let me guess—what happens in San Diego, stays in San Diego?"  
  
"No." Dean shifted, wishing he knew exactly what he needed to say. "I...I just want to talk."  
  
"You should go back to the hotel. Bunk with Kevin or Sam or Charlie instead."  
  
Dean steeled himself. "I thought—I thought you—"  
  
Cas simply stared at him. Was he _really_ going to make Dean say it?  
  
Dean took a deep breath.  
  
"Cas, I—"  
  
"Look, you don't have to say it. If you're that ashamed of how you feel, there's nothing I can—"  
  
Dean interrupted, "I just thought…there’s no way you could ever return my…uh, feelings after everything, and what Abaddon said—“

“It took a _demon_ to—Dean, you trust a Knight of Hell more than _me?”_

“No! I was talking to Aaron before, and—”

The ex-angel rolled his eyes. “Oh, _Aaron._ ”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean demanded, exasperated.

“It means…ugh, never mind. We’re not going to argue.” At Dean’s raised eyebrow, Cas corrected himself: “Again.”

They both briefly glared at each other, before Dean groaned, head in his hands. “Why do we always fight?”

“Because for someone who can rebuild engines and list all the wallpaper symbolism in _Dr. Sexy_ , you’re not very bright.” Dean lightly hit Cas on the shoulder. “Ouch. What I mean to say is that while our circumstances are similar, how we perceive them is _very_ different.” Cas waited, before saying: “Like Purgatory.”

Dean let out a long breath. “Cas, I wanted you to stay with me. We could have gotten through _and_ gotten out together.”

“And I wanted to keep you safe.” Dean began to protest again, but Cas held up his hand. “No. Let me finish. My strength—both physical and mental—was severely drained, and us trying to navigate place unknown to us was difficult without me also being a beacon for Leviathan.”

“We defeated Dick—”

“It was a combined effort that involved four other people. Including demons. Dean, you don’t understand how much I hated myself for what I did, and how angry I was at my weakened state. You didn’t need me burdening you.”

“You weren’t—”

“My mission—no, my _choice_ has always been to protect you. But it seems that every time I tried, you got hurt. Working with Crowley—”

“Cas, we don’t need to talk about this…”

“Yes, we do, because that’s still something that’s hanging over our heads. You asked me where I was, that you were there to ask, and I knew that. But watching you…watching you in a life filled with peace, I couldn’t ask you to be dragged into my mess.”

“And _you_ asked me, back then, what I rather have: peace, or freedom.” Dean interjected, remembering Cas’ last words before they parted for a long year. “I’d like peace, but I’d rather have freedom, which you didn’t give me to choose between. Maybe we couldn’t have stopped Raphael without Crowley, but I’d like to think we would have.” Dean sighed. “I _was_ being harsh on you, and I’m sorry, Cas.”

“I think if we both…communicated,” Cas said, and Dean almost laughed at the strange word on his tongue, “then we could have worked something out. And you’re right. I’d rather have freedom, too. I’d rather have _you.”_

Dean, before he knew what was properly happening, noticed that they’d slid so close to one another on the stage that their knees touched. When Dean turned his head to look at him, he swallowed a gasp at how little space there was between their faces. Cas was looking at him, breath stilled like his, and slowly, his fingers crept up over Dean’s hand.

Slowly, Dean leaned in.  
  
Cas closed the distance, and they were both kissing in the middle of an empty room, slowly, sweetly, silently.  
  
"Is...that okay with you?"  
  
Cas looked as if he were about to laugh, but instead took his other hand. "Yes. _Yes._ How…how long?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"How long have you felt this way?"  
  
Dean answered honestly: "A while. I think...I think...I realized it after Zachariah’s _Back to the Future_ adventure, but admitted it myself when I found out about Crowley...you know. But I think I felt it so long ago that I didn't know how it started. You?"  
  
"When I watched you rake leaves, at Lisa’s house." Cas said, and he _had_ to explain that later, Dean thought. "But...also sooner. I feel as if I've always held you in a certain regard, something that made me call out, _Dean Winchester is saved,_ instead of _The Righteous Man is saved."_ He smiled at Dean, who felt himself pinned by Cas’ intense gaze. “You were special, from the very beginning, and I wasn’t sure _how,_ but I knew you were different.”

“Oh.” Dean coughed, face flushing, wishing he could have said something like _same here_ without sounding as if he was piggybacking off of Cas’ little speech. “I didn’t think—I didn’t know—I thought you could never—”

“Dean Winchester, you are an idiot.” Cas said, rolling his eyes. “Because we could have been doing this a long time ago.”

“Well, we _are_ going to do this for a long time, I hope.” Dean retorted, smiling, and they kissed again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Freaking FINALLY. Whew. 
> 
> One more chapter, and their weekend (along with this fic) is winding down...


	13. Chapter 13

Dean claimed that tomorrow came a lot slower, but Castiel didn’t mind. Among the nightly talk of the routine salt-and-burns and decoding of the tablet and spell, everyone agreed about slowly edging out of the usual hunting routine. Charlie already had an idea of cataloguing every book in the bunker to flash drives and laptops and tablets, while Kevin and Sam were figuring out the college websites and admissions process.

“…And I can skip most of the GEs, thanks to all those APs I took—and I’m so glad I don’t have to write an essay—though I might if I wanted to attend the honors program…”

Kevin, with better color in his cheeks and a shine in his eyes, was now talking Sam’s ear off about all the classes he was going to sign up for at the local community college. Castiel, behind him, was listening to Dean and Charlie bicker over the finale of _Dr. Sexy_ that they managed to get a download of.

“Come on, it was a good twist—”

“That came out of nowhere—”

“Very unexpected, but come on, you didn’t think Dr. Piccolo would last that long? With her heart condition and all—“

“Oh, she deserved better…”

Sweat was beginning to bead on Castiel’s brow, despite the chill of the early morning. The crowd was jostling impatiently, and there were frequent snaps of _get off my foot_ and _ugh, I can’t believe we camped out all night!_ Several were dissembling tents and sharing granola bars out of their bags, and others were adjusting their costumes or checking over the schedule for today. Someone’s pair of wings knocked into Castiel’s shoulder, and as Castiel stumbled, dismissing the owner’s apologies, Dean caught him by the hand and smiled. Castiel returned the gaze.

A sudden squeal caught everyone’s attention:

“Look! Look, I think they’re opening the—”

The doors opened, and everyone stampeded, heedless of the employees’ shouts of caution. Dean, laughing, ran with the crowd, hand still clutching Castiel’s.

“Dean, you better not be late!” Charlie shouted over the noise, lightly whacking Dean with her wooden sword and jogging the other direction with Sam and Kevin. “I’m still queen!”

Dean grinned, but let himself be pulled along with Castiel, who led the way.

The booth was easy to spot. Becky had painted the sign herself, in bright colors, and she flagged the group down by standing on a chair and waving her arms. Beside her were Aaron, Claire, and Krissy. Claire’s injuries had almost healed— _miraculously_ was the exact word the doctor had used—and like Dean and Castiel, she and Krissy were holding hands.

“Brienne of Tarth and Faith Lehaine?” Dean asked. “That’s kind of an unusual pairing.”

“Oh, hush,” Krissy said. “We put way more work into our costumes than Mister Sexy Intern here. He just threw on a labcoat and grabbed a clipboard from Becky’s booth.”

Aaron glared at her—Krissy only smiled in return—and immediately said: “Dean, did you see the finale last night?”

 _“Yes!”_ Dean practically shouted. “Oh man, Dr. Piccolo…”

“And she and Dr. Sexy didn’t do the deathbed confession thing…” Aaron sadly shook his head. “Come on, they’re dragging it out—it’s just silly now.”

“Ten seasons,” Castiel sighed, waving his hand at a vender selling _Game of Thrones_ shirts. “Can you say _beating a dead horse_?”

“Cas!” Dean complained, with a slight whine in his voice, but kissed his cheek. Becky, behind him, emitted a short squeak.

“It’s true,” Claire said, rolling her eyes. “Honestly, _Dr. Sexy_ is just overrated.”

“Weren’t you weeping into my shirt when Dr. Piccolo was shot by the crazed gunman dude?”

Claire glared at her girlfriend. “I happen to get attached to the characters! If only Dr. Wang would leave…”

“Hey, great cosplay!” someone then interrupted, pointing. Dean startled, jerking his gaze away from Castiel and looking down at his outfit. He was wearing his usual clothes—plaid shirt, plain undershirt, and jeans—while Castiel had on his trenchcoat, a present from Dean. It was a slightly different shade—Dean had bought it off a _Constantine_ stall, much to Sam’s amusement—but it was warm and fit comfortably around his shoulders.

“Uh, thanks?” Dean said, slowly. “Um…”

“ _Supernatural,_ right?” the girl said, grinning at them both. Castiel was immediately on guard, but remembered that these two girls were no longer possessed. Krissy was also eyeing the two warily, hand going for the water bottle on the table. “Dean and Cas! What do you think?”

“I mean, I like it…” her friend said, nodding slowly, “but if you just had the Samulet, you’d be a really good Dean Winchester.”

Behind them, Claire snorted audibly, and Krissy covered her mouth with a hand. Aaron laughed.

“…Right,” Dean said.

“And if your friend had a tie…” she continued musing. “But otherwise, I can tell.”

“Stef,” the first girl scolded, with a sheepish grin, “come on, we didn’t even cosplay. “But seriously, that’s cool—” she continued, pointing to their intertwined hands. “Destiel cosplay and all. Didn’t expect guys like you to catch the subtext. I mean, not a lot of people I know get that they’re…you know.”

Castiel only smiled, squeezing Dean’s hand again. “It’s pretty obvious to me.”

Dean, beside him, flushed dark red, but returned the gesture.

“Well, it was nice seeing you,” Stef said, after a little awkward pause. “We’re off to the _Fullmetal Alchemist_ panel, so…”

“Nice girls,” Aaron said, when the two left, with a short smile still on his face. “Destiel, huh?”

“Be quiet,” Dean snapped, with no real anger.

“It’s good to see you guys before everything ends,” Krissy said, with a final wave. “We have to be on the road by at least six, but email us after today—if you _know_ how.”

“Haha,” Dean said sarcastically, before Krissy and Claire exited, Claire giving Castiel a sort of nod of acknowledgment. “Cas, let’s say we grab something to eat before the Marvel panel starts.”

“My pleasure.” Castiel pointed to the exit that advertised food. They walked, hand-in-hand through the building, to outside, paying an overpriced amount for some sandwiches, chips, and water bottles. Sitting down in the shade, they began to eat.

“There’s so much left to do after we leave…” Castiel said, rescuing a piece of tomato before it fell on the ground. “Abaddon—”

“Your Grace—”

“The tablets—”

“The spell—“

“Crowley and Kevin’s mother—“

“Metatron—"

“Not to mention our usual agenda of demons and hunts.”

Dean smiled, bumping Castiel’s shoulder. “We’ll get through it. Together.”

Castiel leaned forward to face Dean. “Together,” he repeated, before they kissed.

Dean was right: even though there were more obstacles to face, Castiel was certain that after this weekend, they could succeed. Whether it meant Castiel getting back his Grace and flying back to Heaven on occasion, or simply staying human and being in the bunker, somehow, that didn’t seem as much as a conflict. Because Castiel knew that as long as everyone was safe and happy and that he was with Dean, he could face the changes that would come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took a while to finish, but I'm proud to say that my first (technically) long-ish fic is done! Thank you for everyone who read and left me feedback, and be sure to check out my fics...including my DCBB2015 in the fall!


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